


everything in between

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (honestly lots of Bellamy going down on Clarke), 2x05, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bearded Bellamy, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon, Co-workers, Cunnilingus, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kiss cam, Kissing Booth, Mario Kart, Mistaken Identity, New Year's Eve, Oral, PTSD, Pets, Pickpockets, Rome - Freeform, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Step Up AU, Teachers, Teasing, Unresolved Tension, backpacking, magazine, sexiled, soldier!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 39,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles, the first chapter will contain a table of contents:</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> Rearranging my AO3 works, condensing all my smaller pieces together.

**T A B L E  O F  C O N T E N T S**

* * *

**Chapter Two:** a different kind of fireworks;  _wc:_ 1030 --- soldier!Bellamy hating fireworks and finding comfort elsewhere.

 **Chapter Three:** good girls;  _wc:_ 553 --- hitting the stacks, as it were.

 **Chapter Four:** the picture of bellamy blake;  _wc:_ 1059 --- Bellamy finds one of Clarke's sketches, one of him.

 **Chapter Five:** red lights;  _wc:_ 613 --- death can only come by your soul mates hand.

 **Chapter Six:** pick pocket princess [of cons and kisses];  _wc:_ 1044 ---  _'that bastard took my phone, well I suppose I did steal his wallet.'_

 **Chapter Seven:** kiss me [of cons and kisses];  _wc:_ 565 --- based off kisses prompt: _#5/22 - 'firm kiss + and then there’s tongue'_

 **Chapter Eight:** warm;  _wc:_ 451 --- imagine your ship sharing a bed: no kissing, no sex, no words. safe. warm.

 **Chapter Nine:** puppy eyes;  _wc:_ 419 --- one inexplicably bringing home an animal and refusing to drop it at the shelter so they and the other have to take care of it.

 **Chapter Ten:** 'nerd' **  
**

**Chapter Eleven:** 'wind'

 **Chapter Twelve:** 'shenanigans'

 **Chapter Thirteen:** 'paint'

 **Chapter Fourteen:** 'pencil'

 **Chapter Fifteen:** 'sugar'

 **Chapter Sixteen:** 'accident' 

 **Chapter Seventeen:** 'photograph'

 **Chapter Eighteen:** 'hostage'

 **Chapter Nineteen:** things are better now; _wc:_ 366 --- bellamy getting jealous of how close miller + clarke have become after being rescued from mount weather.

 **Chapter Twenty:** untitled --- _You want me to wear what?_

 **Chapter Twenty-One:** untitled --- _Wow, that's a nice white shirt you're wearing today Clarke, did you see the thunder clouds coming our way._

 **Chapter Twenty-Two:** untitled ---  _Dad, mum said we have to have a wash if we want to have dinner tonight?_

 **Chapter Twenty-Three:** hey;  _wc:_ 252 --- the hug, based on promo pics.

 **Chapter Twenty-Four:** new beginnings;  _wc:_ 1010 ---  _"How can I miss her so much-- I didn't even know she was there until she was gone."_

 **Chapter Twenty-Five:** fourteen seconds --- the hug, fourteen seconds.

 **Chapter Twenty-Six:** girls gots needs --- met while buying condoms at the corner store.

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven:** tomato --- person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter.

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight:** mr. cinnamon sugar --- I promise I'm not hitting on you but you smell really good.

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine:** kiss cam --- strangers who end up on the kiss cam at a sporting event.

 **Chapter Thirty:** separate on the surface --- haven't seen you since that night we spent together and i want to leave the room but were locked inside and god this is awkward + my parents are coming over in 10 minutes so please put some clothes on.

 **Chapter Thirty-One:** nothing in space is a promising as the view from a ferris wheel --- kissing booth at a carnival.

 **Chapter Thirty-Two:** flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get --- Clarke gets a headache and Bellamy takes care of her? + person A is sick and Person B takes care of them.

 **Chapter Thirty-Three:** lightning hides the color of the night --- 'both stuck in the dorm common room because their respective roommates needed “alone time."'  
  
**Chapter Thirty-Four:** new year's --- 'I kissed the wrong person on News Year's.'

 **Chapter Thirty-Five:** the game --- 'Clarke is on her period so no sex, and it drives Bellamy crazy and Clarke is just laughing at him. After a week of no sex. Bellamy takes her up on what she’d missed. Bellamy teases her too after her period is finished and now he won´t fuck her he waits another week and after that HOT DAMN SEX YES.'

 **Chapter Thirty-Six:** final combination --- step up!au of sorts.

 **Chapter Thirty-Seven:** beard burn --- 'basically bearded bellamy going down on clarke, because why not.'

 **Chapter Thirty-Eight:** your ass is grass --- Mario Kart. Wine. Sexual Tension.

 **Chapter Thirty-Nine:** your ass is grass, pt. 2 

 **Chapter Forty:** principessa --- based on prompt: _'you were sat in my reserved train seat and refused to move so i sat on your lap and now we’re both too annoyed and awkwardly turned on to move.'_

 **Chapter Forty-One:** principessa, pt. 2

 **Chapter Forty-Two:** principessa, pt. 3

 **Chapter Forty-Three:** principessa, pt. 4

 **Chapter Forty-Four:** editorial --- 'There are 3 rules you must follow to work at ARK Magazines - don't be late, don't bring caramel glazed donuts and never insult the head editor, Bellamy Blake. Too bad that Clarke's car breaks down, she loves caramel glazed donuts for breakfast and she just called Bellamy Blake an insufferable slave-driver to his face for making her work on her birthday. Or the one where Clarke can't stand him, Bellamy wants her and somehow they end up in love.'

 **Chapter Forty-Five:** tips --- '‘imagine person a of your OTP trying to secretly kiss person b’s cheek while they’re asleep but b shifts and a accidentally kisses their mouth and pulls back flustered and looks down at a wide eyed b who pulls them back for a real kiss.’ + 'person a leaving thigh hickeys on person b.' + 'Clarke giving Bellamy tips about how to eat a girl out''

 **Chapter Forty-Six:** can't wait to meet your dog

 **Chapter Forty-Seven:** it's educational --- teachers!verse, 'WHERE BELLAMY AND CLARKE ARE BOTH TEACHERS AT A SCHOOL, AND THINGS HAPPEN.'

 **Chapter Forty-Eight:** it's educational, pt. 2 --- teachers!verse, 'OUR STUDENTS THINK WE’RE DATING'

 **Chapter Forty-Nine:** it's educational, pt. 3 --- teachers!verse, 'WE LEAVE EACH OTHER NOTES ON THE BLACKBOARDS'

 **Chapter Fifty:** it's educational, pt. 4 --- teachers!verse, 'MAKE UP SEX'


	2. a different kind of fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soldier!Bellamy hating fireworks and finding comfort elsewhere.

**Bellamy hated the Fourth of July.**

It’s not that he was unpatriotic or anything, it’s just after two tours in Afghanistan he _can’t handle the noise_. He wakes up the morning of, dread filling his chest.

He’d only been home from being overseas a few weeks. He’d spent a lot of it trying to re-acclimate himself with the town he grew up in. He’d taken a job down at the furniture store, where it was quiet and low key.

He’d seen Clarke a few times. They’d dated in high school, but had drifted apart when Bellamy left for the Army. Despite that, they’d written letters back and forth during Bellamy’s time away.

Seeing her was a welcomed comfort. Her laugh made his chest swell. She had a tendency to tell stupid jokes - but not be able to finish them because she’d start laughing before the punchline.

Octavia was throwing a block party for the holiday celebration. She loved any excuse to throw a part, especially during the summer and involving a pool. He loved Octavia for inviting him, but he knew it wasn't really where he wanted to be.

Clarke had texted him to say she’d be there, so he thought he’d make an appearance. He shoved his feet into his flip-flops and grabbed his aviators, hanging them on the collar of his white v-neck.

As soon as he arrived at Octavia’s, she spotted him from across the yard and ran over to give him a hug, “You made it!”

“Couldn't miss this? I mean hot dogs, sweaty people bumping it to me, the smell of chlorine in the evening!” Bellamy winked at her.

“Clarke’s inside getting the watermelon, you should go say hi.”

Bellamy nodded as to say thanks and made his way inside.

She was standing at the counter, cut-off jean shorts and a black racerback tank-top. Her hair was pulled back into a braid with a red bandana keeping the loose ends out of her face. Bellamy stood there in silence enjoying the view for a moment.

“Blake, you realize I can see you in the window reflection, right?”

Clarke turned around and smiled at him as she leaned against the counter. Her face softened towards Bellamy, “Hey, I know today’s not your favorite day, but I am certain that Octavia is happy you made an appearance.”

Bellamy just smiled at her, “How are things at the gallery?”

They made small talk while Clarke finished chopping up the watermelon to bring outside, the kids from across the street had already brought out the sparklers and were dancing around with their ice cream smeared faces.

The night air had given some relief, but the stiff summer humidity still held, as they sat on the curb watching the celebration. Fireworks would start soon.

“Wanna go inside for a little while?” Clarke nudged Bellamy with her elbow.

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a half-smile as he stood up, offering a hand to Clarke and helping her to her feet. He followed her upstairs to her room.

Clarke and Octavia had been living together for a few years, things between her and Bellamy never seemed to affect Octavia and Clarke’s friendship. He was grateful for that.

Bellamy wandered over to her bookshelf, perusing the battered collection of novels, sketchbooks and knick-knacks. Poking out of one of the sketchbooks was a loose sketch. He pulled it out to reveal a charcoal sketch of Bellamy that she had done when they were dating.

Clarke noticed his discovery, “You remember the day I drew that?”

“Yeah, I do. It was a good day.”

“A really good day.”

The air was heavy between them. Bellamy felt the pang in his heart from the time they’d spent apart.

The moment seemed to end when the first explosion went off. Bellamy winced slightly at the popping sounds from the fireworks.

Clarke brought her hand to his face.

Bellamy melted into her hand, it was soft.

They’d never had to say much between them, they’d known each other for so long that a lot of the time they spent together was spent in silence  _(when Clarke wasn't trying to crack stupid jokes)_.

Bellamy felt the lump in his throat, Clarke was a constant for him. A strong, defining force is his life through all the messy parts.

Her fingers traced his jawline before dropping to her side.

The skin on his face where her fingers had just been prickled with electricity, and he brought his own hands to her face and kissed her forehead. Clarke had closed her eyes and brought her hands to his arms, holding on to them and he dragged his hands from her face to her shoulders.

And they stood their for a moment, holding onto each other. Clarke turned and kissed the inside of each of Bellamy’s wrists, and then brought her eyes to meet his.

Another firework went off and Bellamy closed his eyes, his brow creasing with a semblance of pain.

“How about we turn on  _Dumb and Dumber_ , really loud and forget about everything that’s happening out there.” Clarke said, gently moving her hands down his arms to meet his hands.

Bellamy smiled as he tangled his fingers into hers, “As long as you don’t repeat the lines to me every time Jim Carrey makes a joke.”

Clarke leaned up and kissed him. She didn't rush it. It was a firm kiss, the kind that he could feel the softness of her lips, the kind that made him lean his forehead to hers after their lips broke apart, the kind of kiss that made him feel secure… made him feel at home.

“Deal."

They were both smiling and Clarke stepped backwards, still holding Bellamy’s hands and dragging him to the bed with her. Clarke leaned against the headboard, pulling Bellamy into her chest. He relaxed into her, one hand running through his hair and the other resting on his chest. He reached up to her hand and brought it to his mouth, giving it a small kiss.

_And every time the fireworks went off, she gave his hand a small squeeze and a kiss in the hair._

 


	3. good girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hitting the stacks, as it were.

Clarke sat on the floor of her bedroom, she had four different text books open and three notebooks covered in notes and doodles, and there index cards in stacks next to each one. She had spent the last three hours preparing her materials for her AP History exam that Friday, and had even manage to start prep for her AP Biology exam next week as well.   
  
There was a soft knock on the door, “Come in.” Clarke looked up as Jake Griffin poked his head in.   
  
"How’s it going, honey?"   
  
Clarke set down her highlighter on the nearest notebook, “It’s good, I have a date with the library tonight. My lab partner wants to go over the practicals, and I have to get a few more books for my final English paper.”  
  
"Harvard’s not going to know what hit ‘em."   
  
Jake was so proud of his daughter. Straight A student, four AP courses, two languages— she was going to ace her SAT, and she was going to knock the Harvard admissions board of their seats. He closed the door, leaving Clarke to her studies.  
  
As soon as she heard her dad reach his room at the end of the hall, she slammed her Biology textbook shut and grabbed her jacket and bag off her bed. The library was only ten minutes from their neighborhood, and she found a parking spot easily.   
  
Clarke headed toward the stacks, skimming the shelves for the unabridged version of the Count of Monte Cristo. She was about to reach for the Dumas classic when she felt a tug on her waist, and she was being pulled back into the corner of the row, hot breath in her ear.  
  
"You know, Harvard is  _really_ far away.” A deep voice whispered between wet kisses along the  curve of her neck.   
  
"Well, maybe…" She said, spinning around to face the disheveled figure, "You’ll just have to come with me." She threaded her hands up into his hair pulling his face to rest their foreheads together. She bit her lip, teasing him.  
  
"I might just have to," he pressed his lips to hers. His hands still on her waist, he guided her backwards to the bookshelves, knocking into them a little too rough. A copy of  _A Tale of Two Cities_  came tumbling onto the floor beside them, causing Bellamy to let out a loud “Ha!”  
  
"Oh, my god," Clarke stifled a giggle, "Shut up! This is a library, Monsieur Blake!"  
  
Bellamy rolled his eyes, pressing his body into hers, her hands settling on his chest. “You’re such a good girl, Clarke Griffin.”  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I just don’t want to get caught. Otherwise we can’t do this anymore." She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged his mouth back onto hers, and she felt Bellamy’s laughter vibrate through her.   
  
A young boy rounded the corner, and stopped in his tracks, dropping the book he had in his hand. Bellamy pulled away, arm moving to shelter Clarke behind him— both fighting fits of embarrassed laughter… “Move along, munchkin, just turn around and forget what you saw.”   
  
The boys eyes widen as he pivoted on his heels, retreating from the stacks.  
  
"Oh my gooood," Clarke groaned. Bellamy just shook his head, grabbed her hand, and dragged her further into the labyrinth of books.


	4. the picture of bellamy blake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finds one of Clarke's sketches, one of him.

It had been raining for six days straight. Most of the kids in camp were getting stir crazy — Bellamy definitely was. He paced back and forth in his tent picking up his gun, checking the bullets, and setting it back down again.   
  
Octavia poked her head inside the flap of the tent.  
  
"Oh. My. God. Bell. You have to stop pacing. I can hear you checking your gun every three minutes from my tent." She said, slightly exasperated.   
  
Her hair was slightly damp from the rain, like she had sprinted from her own just next door. Her eyes were wide— she probably hadn't gotten out much in the last few days, and hysteria was starting to spread.   
  
Bellamy ran his hand through his hair, “I’m going crazy. All this damn rain— it’s driving me crazy.”   
  
Up the Ark, they had read about rain, they had seen videos of rain, they knew all about rain— but experiencing it  _for six days straight_  was a completely different ballgame.   
  
"Go talk to someone, play a game— do something, for the love of god." Octavia backed out of the tent. He knew she was just looking out for him, but he balled his fists and inhaled sharply.  
  
He exhaled slowly with his eyes closed, and headed for the exit. The misty downfall was cool on his face, and he felt some of the tension drip off of him. He heard a holler from the courtyard and he turned to see Jasper and Monty wrestling in the mud. More kids begun to emerge from their tents, moving timidly out into the rain.  
  
Bellamy smiled to himself and headed towards Clarke’s tent, he hadn't talk to her in a few days and there were some night watch tactics he wanted to discuss with her. Peeling back the flap of the orange tent, he found it empty. Her bed was unmade and there were several pieces of parchment spread out on the make-shift table in the corner.   
  
One of the papers had a charcoal drawing on it that caught his eye. He looked around for anyone watching before entering the tent and stopping at the table. He gently arranged the papers so the drawing was completely uncovered and he could examine it.  
  
His pulse quickened when he realized what the drawing was.  _It was him_.   
  
He swallowed thickly, his fingers hovering over the dark lines. It was a portrait— he was looking off in the distance, brow creased ever so slightly, a typical Bellamy pose. He just stood there, mouth gaping and eyes wide.   
  
He was so caught up in the artwork that he didn’t hear the shuffling outside and the flap of the tent rustling. Behind him, someone cleared their throat and Bellamy jumped.  
  
He turned to face the intruder— only it wasn't an intruder, it was Clarke.  _He was the intruder._  
  
"Clarke- I was, this isn't, you— argh," Bellamy stammered.  
  
Clarke raised her eyebrow and crossed her arms against her chest. “May I ask what you are doing in my tent?”  
  
"Uh, you see, I was coming to talk to you about the night watch and you were here so I just, came in?" He said hopefully.  
  
"Uh-huh, you just came in and then what, started rifling through my things?" She looked rather amused— this confused Bellamy.  
  
"I didn’t mean to intrude, I’m sorry, I’ll leave." He shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the exit. He stopped when Clarke held her hand up to his chest, keeping him leaving.   
  
"Do you like it?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The drawing," she said pointedly. "That’s what you were looking at right?"  
  
Bellamy nodded, not making eye-contact with the wet blonde in front of him. He hadn't noticed her damp clothes clinging to her. Nope. Hadn't noticed at all. He hadn't noticed her chest glistening from the rainfall. He never noticed these things. No, sir, he did not. It was quiet for a minute.  
  
"It’s okay that you saw it, Bellamy." She finally said, placing her hand on his jaw, forcing his eyes to meet hers.   
  
"Why me? Of all the people in this camp to draw, why draw me?" He questioned, searching her pale gray-blue eyes.  
  
She sighed, “You always have this look on your face when you’re with other people. A cross between exhaustion, focus, anger, and determination. It was puzzling me, I was trying to pinpoint what the look was— what it meant. Drawing it seemed to be the logical thing.” She turned back to the table and picked through a few more papers, procuring another sketch. “But then you let your guard down once— you were laughing with Octavia about something, completely carefree. I decided I wanted to remember that one even more.”  
  
She handed him the paper she had just pulled out of the stack. It was him again. This time his face was softer, he had laugh lines at his eyes and he was smiling.   
  
A silence hung between them.   
  
"You’re my favorite subject." She said softly. "There is so much I can’t read about you— so much beneath that exterior you let everyone else see. I know you don’t feel like you can let anyone in. But you can, Bellamy."  
  
Just like that, Bellamy was closing the already small distance between them— one hand still gripping the sketch, his free hand sliding into her hair and pulling her into him. Her mouth was hot against his as their lips crashed together. Clarke’s hands soon found his chest and her fingers danced along the collar of his jacket, keeping their bodies inches from each other.   
  
Clarke pulled away first, too soon. They were breathing hard. Bellamy leaned his forehead to hers.   
  
"I-I’m," he started, pulling back slowly.  
  
Clarke cut him off, wrapping her arms around his neck this time and pulling his face down to hers, mouths hovering just centimeters apart. Heat dangled between them. “I can think of another portrait I’d like to do of you.” She smiled playfully.   
  
A shocked Bellamy didn’t quite know how to react, but before he could think too hard about it Clarke was kissing him again. Clarke’s hands found the collar of his jacket again, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.   
  
 _She wouldn't get to that portrait that quickly._


	5. red lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> death can only come by your soul mates hand.

Bellamy stared at the small light illuminated on the inside of his wrist. It was glowing a soft yellow now— like it normally did. Just a few minutes prior it had been burning a bright red light, one he had only heard about.

Miller was sitting in the corner eating an apple, he noticed the anxious look plaguing Bellamy’s face and shot him a questioning glance. Bellamy waved him off, to let him know it was nothing.

Bellamy wasn't even sure he believed in the idea of soul mates.

Not in this world— where they would be the death of you.

They had all grown up hearing the prophecy. The idea that the red light was dangerous: ingrained into them from a young age.

In a land where no one died of natural causes and everyone stopped aging past eighteen— the red light scared the hell out of them. Bellamy, especially, had a good reason to be concerned. His father had been killed by a woman who made his wrist glow red. Aurora Blake hadn't cried— it had been an arranged marriage, and though she cared for the man who fathered her son— she did not love him.

Bellamy had been trying to slow down his heart rate for fifteen minutes. They had been hunting, and were ambushed by a group of (what they thought were) forest kin. They must have crossed the territory line— just because they couldn't die at their hands, doesn't mean they couldn't get hurt.

He had just knocked a boy to the ground when two arms tightened around his neck, pulling him backwards. His hands went to his throat, trying to release the grip of the attacker— that’s when he noticed.

The light on his wrist was glowing red now. A cry of surprise was muffling by the strangling hold. He thrashed around until he saw a large tree trunk and he backed up violently into it, forcing the attacker to loosen their grasp. Bellamy took the opportunity to spin around, pinning both of the strangers hands up against the rough bark.

Looking back at him was a wide-eyed girl— twigs and leaves poking out from messy blonde curls— who was taking into short, vehement breaths. Bellamy’s eyes flicked to the left wrist that was immobilized beneath his own, a bright red glowed just below her delicate hand.

The girl noticed the shift in Bellamy’s face, and her eyes snapped to her left wrist, then to his left wrist and her face dropped. An energy surged through them, but before Bellamy could say anything, the girl kicked upwards, catching him completely off guard and he released the grasp on her arms. She used her momentum to knock over Bellamy, who was already doubled-over in pain from the impact— both of them falling to the ground.

She scrambled to her feet, but stopped to look back at the dark-haired man sprawled out below her— but only for a moment, her right hand mechanically going to her left wrist, her thumb rubbing against the light that glowed bright against the dark forest. She cocked her head, brows furrowed as he groaned on the muddy ground in front of her.

A twig snapped and she jerked back into focus, turning to sprint back into the overgrown woodland.

"Bellamy!" Miller called out.

_"Bellamy!"_

Bellamy snapped to— he was in the storage bunker that they had retreated to for the night. Bellamy had begun to shake ever so slightly, that girl’s face burned into his eyelids.

_The red light glowed._

"Are you okay, man?"

Bellamy swallowed thickly, and Miller’s mouth dropped open as he answered, “I think I just met my soul mate.”


	6. pick pocket princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kissed them as a distraction for stealing their wallet.

The doors of the subway opened and Clarke stepped on, taking a spot near a broad shouldered man with golden skin. The car wasn't too full, so she was easily a foot away as the doors closed and they began moving towards the next stop. 

Unfortunately, it was nearing five o’clock and a large amount of people loaded in at the next stop— squeezing their way into all the seats and corners. Clarke ended up pressed up against the side of the handsome freckled gentleman with the mop of brown curls. 

"Sorry," she mumbled, trying to make herself as small as possible. He just smirked, shoving his right hand into the pocket of his leather jacket as he held on to the subway pole with his free one. 

Just behind Clarke was an older gentlemen in a bowlers cap, smelling of day old cheese. Suddenly he sneezed with his whole body, throwing an elbow into Clarke’s back and sending her tumbling into Handsome Stranger. 

"Easy there, princess." His voice sent a shiver through her, and she brought her eyes to his face, carefully tracing over his features. "I’m Bellamy, Bellamy Blake— see, now you’re not throwing yourself at a stranger."

"Well, Bellamy, Bellamy Blake. What makes you think I’m throwing myself at you." He smelled like cinnamon and leather, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled made her a little weak at the knees. This was making it very hard for her to do what she jumped on the subway to do— grab his wallet and get the hell out of there.

"I have that effect on people." He shrugged smugly. 

The next stop was rapidly approaching and Clarke had a very small window. She heard the loudspeaker announce  _Arcadia Avenue_  and she made a split second decision. She grabbed the collar of one Bellamy Blake’s leather jacket and pulled him down onto her mouth. The jolting turbulence from the tracks and the shock from the kiss distracted the Adonis-like figure long enough to slip her hand into his pocket unnoticed and pull away with his wallet.

Bellamy, Bellamy Blake stood there dumbfounded as Clarke backed away towards the now opening subway doors. She had a mischievous grin plastered on her face and she turned on her heels and walked briskly towards the exit.

Once she was above ground and in the clear, she reached into her pocket to grab her cell phone. She wanted to call Jasper and confirm the snag— only… her phone was not there.  _Son of a bitch._

* * *

 

Bellamy leaned back against the doors opposite of the ones that had just closed behind the confounding blonde bombshell.  _That had been easy,_  he thought. He knew most girls didn’t carry an actual wallet like guys do, but he also knew most girls won’t go  _anywhere_  without their phones. The stranger pulling him in for a kiss was just icing on the cake, almost too easy. 

He stepped onto the platform on the next stop, smug look of pride on his face. He stopped at the newsstand on his way out to grab a coffee. He reached to his pocket to grab his wallet, finding instead— nothing.  _Son of a bitch._  He shook his head. 

Apparently, he wasn't the only con artist on the subway that day.

* * *

 

Clarke stood there in awe. Bastard had stolen her phone. Well… _she did steal his wallet_. She gritted her teeth as she walked back to the apartment, where she found Jasper on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. 

"Successful snag?" 

Clarke gave him a sour look. “Yeah, I got the wallet. But unfortunately, he got my phone.” 

Jasper snorted. “You’re telling me the queen of pick-pocketing… got pick-pocketed?”

"Ha-ha." Clarke responded, unamused. "Toss me your phone." 

Jasper tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth before tossing his own phone at his partner in crime. She opened up the messaging app and plugged in her number.

_Hey, this is the blonde whose phone who currently have. I’d like that back please._

It wasn't but thirty seconds later when the screen illuminated, a picture of Clarke stuffing her face with watermelon from last summers neighborhood BBQ— she made a mental note to tell Jasper a new picture was needed.

_Yeah, not unless you plan on giving me my wallet back._

Shit.

Clarke groaned a little, today was a bust.

_Grounders Park, twenty minutes._

_See you soon, princess._

Clarke rolled her eyes,  _this dumbass._

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Clarke was roaming Grounders Park, eyes scanning for Bellamy, Bellamy Blake. 

Clarke rounded the corner near the gazebo, and lo and behold the cocky son of a bitch— leaning against the fence, aviators resting on his smug face.

His body rolled up as Clarke approached him and he removed the sunglasses, hanging the on the collar of his t-shirt. He cocked his head as she stood in front of him. “Well, well, well— if it isn't the pick-pocket princes herself.”

Clarke’s nose flared as she gave him a sarcastic smile, “In the flesh.”

"I’ll be taking that wallet then, if you don’t mind." He held out his hand.

She procured the wallet from her own jacket pocket, slapping it down onto his outstretched palm. Bellamy immediately wrapped his fingers around Clarke’s dainty hand before she could pull away, and instead he pulled her into his chest.

"You know, it’s not everyday that I meet someone who rivaled me in my…  _art.”_ His breath was hot, and shit,  _he still smelled like cinnamon and leather._  

Clarke’s breaths were more ragged as she squirmed in his grasp— his other hand had moved to the small of her back, tucking her in close. She felt something slide into the back pocket of her jeans.

"I put my number in there, in case you ever want to…  _team up._ " He whispered, hovering just over her lips. 

Clarke leaned forward ever so slightly when he abruptly let her go and she lost her balance stumbling forward. He was backing away with a smirk on his face as he slips his aviators back on. He licked his lips and turned on his heels, leaving a gaping Clarke dumbfounded in the middle of the park.

_Oh, this was not over._


	7. kiss me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5/22 - firm kiss + and then there’s tongue

Clarke was walking briskly through the crowd, hand dipping into a pocket of an over-sized trench coat and slipping into her messenger bag. She barely managed to avoid bumping shoulders with the another person as she turned to retreat down the next street when she heard yelling.   
  
_"That girl stole my wallet!"_  
  
Clarke picked up the pace, not noticing a looming figure appear in front of her.  
  
"Oof!" She heaved, her arms pulled to a stop in large, warm hands.  
  
"We really have got to stop meeting like this princess."   
  
She knew that voice, it was that damn  _Bellamy Blake—_ with his dumb aviators and his dumb freckles and his dumb, superbly toned muscles.  
  
"Also," he chuckled, "You may need to find new territory— people are starting to catch on to your shenanigans." Clarke jerked her arms from his grasp and frowned at him.   
  
The crowd was loud and she heard someone shout again, without thinking she grabbed Bellamy by the fabric of his shirt and spun him so she blocked by his body and her back was against the brick wall.   
  
"Kiss me." She breathed.  
  
"What?" His face contorted in confusion.  
  
But Clarke didn’t have the patience, she pulled him against her— a firm kiss against warm lips, her eyes stayed open watching the man pass them over, searching the crowd for her. She stopped paying attention to the heat growing between them until suddenly there was a small flicking against her mouth and her lips were parting. He smelled like spearmint and he  _definitely_ knew what he was doing with his tongue— pulling and nipping at her with an open mouth and hot breath. He had a hand planted next to her head on the wall and the other one trailed dangerously up her torso.   
  
Before she realized it, her eyes were shut and she was melting into him, her fingers reaching up to tangle in his dark curls.   
  
Suddenly he pulled back and Clarke dropped forward from the absence of his lips.   
  
"Next time you need a runner,  _call me,”_ He whispered next to her ear, and pulled back disappearing in the crowd.   
  
Dumb-founded by the obvious physical attraction and chemistry they shared, she stood there panting.  _Damn it._ She reached into her bag to grab her phone, also checking for her most recent snag.   
  
Fuck.  
  
He played her,  _again._ How many times was she going to let this guy get the best of her? She pulled up her contacts in her phone and found  _Freckle-face Bastard_  in her list and hit ‘call’.   
  
"Yes, princess?"   
  
"Did you only take the wallet so I’d call you?" She asked with a heavy sigh.  
  
"It worked, didn’t it?" She could practically hear the smug smile she knew was on his face.   
  
She couldn’t help but laugh, this guy was  _infuriating—_  but she was so drawn to him.  
  
"Here’s the deal, you go out to dinner with me." He said confidently.  
  
"With what? The wallet you just stole from me?" She chided.  
  
"To be fair,  _you_  stole it first.”   
  
Clarke shook her head, glad he couldn’t see her grinning like an idiot.   
  
"I’m going to take that silence as a yes."   
  
She couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this, “Yeah, okay. One condition, though.”  
  
Bellamy seemed surprised, “Oh?”  
  
"You do that thing with your tongue again," she said hotly.  
  
"I think we can arrange for that."


	8. warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imagine your ship sharing a bed: no kissing, no sex, no words. safe. warm.

The tent was quiet but for the sound of breathing slowing. After a long day, neither one of them wanted to think or talk or move. They longed for an escape from the rations, the guard shifts and perimeter walks, the broken bones and the lack of gunpowder. 

The sun had been down for hours, and they laid in the dark, the only light was from the campfire flickering on the side of the tent. Bellamy was on his back-- he had kicked off his boots, stripped off his jacket and shirt and flopped down onto the makeshift bed. Clarke, however, had found his biggest shirt and tugged it over her exhausted body and crawled in next to him, curled up on her side-- watching his chest rise and fall. 

Clarke's right hand found his, carefully threading her fingers into his, and gingerly tracing her thumb over a scar on his palm. Bellamy felt a slight shot of electricity at her touch-- his fingers were calloused now. They had been on Earth for a long time now. His palms now rough from chopping firewood, digging  ~~graves~~  holes, pulling rope, and operating firearms. 

Bellamy wondered how Clarke kept her hands so soft-- they were always smooth and warm to the touch. It was comforting. He brought his other hand up behind his head, relaxing further into the pallet of cushions. 

And this is how the stayed. No words. Barely touching. Warm. Safe. 

Bellamy fell asleep first-- he always did. Clarke got more sleep in a normal week than Bellamy did though. He always ended up with the double-grave shifts, he volunteered for them-- something about being a leader, not always being easy.

Clarke had finally begun to doze, too, when suddenly a loud guttural noise came from the man lying next to her. His breathing had slowed-- but then the throaty snore that always accompanied his exhaustion kicked in. 

Clarke rolled away, letting out a quiet laugh.  _Of course._  She stared up at the ceiling of the tent, shaking her head-- waiting a few minutes to see if it subsided. She resisted the urge to hit him with a pillow. She knew he needed the sleep, so, instead, she nudged herself into the crook of his shoulder, nestling her body against his. She matched her breathing to his. 

Eventually Clarke fell asleep too-- only to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning to Bellamy waking  _himself_ up with a loud snort. He was so out of it, she couldn't help but laugh at the confusion on his face. She just kissed into his chest and murmured at him to go back to sleep. This time racing to fall asleep first.


	9. puppy eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one inexplicably bringing home an animal and refusing to drop it at the shelter so they and the other have to take care of it.

Bellamy took a deep breath before approaching the kitchen. Clarke's back was to him as she stood at the sink washing dishes. Clearing his throat as he entered the room, he held the small whimpering puppy against his chest.

Clarke froze, spinning slowly on her heels to face her boyfriend. Her eyes immediately went to the tiny creature squirming in his arms and she started to shake her head.

"Before you say any--" Bellamy started, but Clarke cut him off.

"No."

"But, Clarke--"

"No." She was shaking her head more vigorously now, and she had suds dripping from her kitchen gloves. 

Clarke had just started her first year of residency, she barely had time to take care of herself, let alone take care of a puppy--  _but it was so cute._  She stared at Bellamy who had a pathetically sad, but endearing, look on his face as he stroked the golden fur behind the dogs ear.

"But-- but, please?" Bellamy practically whined. 

Clarke felt a tugging on her heart as she watched the puppy licking Bellamy's arm while it squirmed. 

"Bellamy," she left out a half scoff, half laugh-- trying to hide her actual indecision.

"Clarke, babe, the shelter is so full already-- there's no way I could drop him off. I promise, I will take such good care of him. You won't have to do anything."

Clarke's face was softening-- she was caving and she knew it. 

Bellamy held the animal up in a mock Simba-on-Pride-Rock gesture, giving her the biggest puppy eyes he personally could muster-- the puppy's paws were clambering to gain purchase of thin air.

"Oh, my god." Clarke's shoulders slumped in defeat. Sighing, she muttered, "Okay, fine-- but  _you_  are in charge of potty training, if that dog does anything to mes--" Bellamy closed the distance between them, planting a kiss on her mouth to cut her off, puppy squirming between them.

Clarke smiled against the kiss, breaking away with a laugh. "I'm going to regret this." She shook her head as Bellamy transferred the little golden retriever into her arms and it darted for her face, laying sloppy wet kisses all over her mouth and nose. 

Bellamy crossed his arms against his chest with a stupid, self-satisfied grin plastered on his face, watching Clarke laugh and smile while she played with the puppy in her arms-- looking more relaxed than she had in weeks. 

Yeah, pretty soon that puppy is going to have Clarke wrapped around his little paw, and Bellamy loved it.


	10. nerd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

"Bellamy, I just don't understand why you named your sister after Caesar's nephew's older sister... or whatever.

"No, Clarke. Caesar was not his uncle. He was is great-uncle."

Clarke rolled her eyes, as she rolled a small leaf between her fingers. They had been out patrolling the forest most of the afternoon and Clarke was using the time to scout for new sources of herbs and plants for the med-bay. 

"She was one of the most prominent women in Roman history, Clarke. She was loyal and was held in high regard of the people, despite her falling out with Marc Anthony and his eventual rejection and suicide." 

Clarke stared at him blankly.

"C'mon, princess. It's just like you and all your Aristolochia spp," he spat, "and de-oxygenated blood is being carried through the inferior vena cava and yadda-yadda."

"Those literally have nothing to do with each other."

Bellamy huffed, "Whatever! Just don't be harassing me because Augustus and his life were fascinating!" 

An almost comical and incredulous look had crossed Bellamy's face. A small smile tugged at the corners of Clarke's mouth, and with a wink she countered "Whoa... calm down there, nerd."


	11. wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

Clarke shuddered as the wind whipped through the valley. She and Bellamy had been hiking for hours in search of a new water source.   
  
A few days prior, one of the younger kids had sneaked onto the drop ship and stolen the jar that Raven had bottled up the remaining rocket fuel in. As he was running from the camp, he had tripped over a root near the shore and the jar smashed open against a rock-- causing the fuel to diffuse into the source of their only clean drinking water.  
  
Bellamy trailed behind a few feet, gun slung across his back along with a pack with rations for the two of them. Clarke had her own pack-- mostly full of plants she had collected during their trek.   
  
The sun had slipped behind the rock face towering over them as they made their way further into the gorge, and a group of dark clouds hand above them threateningly.   
  
They were following a small stream that they knew had to be fed by a larger body. With a loud crack, the sky opened up and rain began to fall, wind howling and droplets whipping around and stinging her soft skin.   
  
"We should find cover!" Clarke heard Bellamy yell over the sudden onslaught. Clarke nodded and pointed toward a small divot in the side of the mountain that looked big enough to squeeze though.   
  
Taking off in a quick jog, Clarke reached the opening just seconds before Bellamy-- his strides were much longer than hers.  
  
Just inside, Clarke began to peel off her wet jacket-- her ratty t-shirt clinging to her body.   
  
"Great, I'm soaked and the temperature has dropped at least 15 degrees since the sun dropped."   
  
Bellamy wasn't listening though, he had been sensible enough to grab what dry branches he could find as he made his way to the grotto and had busied himself with starting a small fire near the entrance.   
  
"Hm?" He said, turning his attention back to Clarke, who was standing there with water dripping from her braid. "Oh." He pulled his pack to his front and opened it. He stuck his arm down towards the bottom, procuring another t-shirt and tossing towards Clarke. "Here, take it."  
  
"But--" Clarke started, knowing Bellamy was just a soaked she was. He cut her off with a stare and a tilt of his head. "Okay." She dropped her head slightly, running her fingers over the worn fabric of the t-shirt. "I--um, can you turn around real quick?"  
  
"Oh, c'mon, Princess. It's nothing I haven't seen before."   
  
"Not on me!" She cried.  
  
"Fine," he resigned, doing a slow 180-degree turn to face away from the blonde.  
  
Clarke tried to make quick work of her current garment, pulling it over her head in one swift motion. She shivered as her skin reacted to the dampness of the cave, not noticing a small gasp escape her lips.   
  
Bellamy turned his head slightly, catching a small glimpse of Clarke out of the corner of his eye. Her skin was glowing-- fair and smooth like porcelain. He couldn't drag away his stare when she suddenly caught his eye. "Hey!"   
  
She pulled the dry shirt against her chest. Bellamy cleared his throat, snapping his eyes back toward the entrance of the cave, a flush creeping into his cheek and he smiled to himself. 


	12. shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

Bellamy stormed off towards his tent, leaving an apologetic looking Jasper standing awkwardly at the rations table. Monty glanced over, not wanting to break the silence, and just shook his head as he popped a small handful of nuts into his mouth. Jasper shrugged with wide eyes, what?! he mouthed.   
  
Clarke had been standing near the drop ship talking to Harper about the night watch shifts when she caught Bellamy's display out of the corner of my eye.   
  
"And then tomorrow night we'll-- sorry, I'll be right back." She said distractedly and made off towards Bellamy's tent. Flipping back the tarp, she saw Bellamy fuming and pacing. "Hey, what the hell?"  
  
"Those--those idiots." Clarke furrowed her brows in confusion.  
  
"Bellamy, what happened?"  
  
Bellamy stopping pacing and balled his hands up into angry fists and turned to face his co-leader. "Jasper and Monty caught two wild pigs and have been breeding them in a small pen just outside the walls!"  
  
"And?" Clarke raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, Jasper decided they were TOO CUTE to butcher." He huffed, "And he's been bringing all the younger kids and even some of the older kids out to the pen to  _play with the piglets_ \-- now EVERYONE is wrapped up in his-- his shenanigans!"  
  
Clarke snorted.  
  
"I'm serious, Clarke. People are neglecting their jobs, abandoning post! Things have to get done."  
  
Clarke just shook her head at the crazed man in front of her. "Bellamy, it's harmless. Besides, the camp could use some morale."   
  
"But-- but--"  
  
"But nothing, get over it Bell. Let the kids have some fun. You take a minute to collect yourself, then... I don't know, go visit the piglets or something, see it firsthand." And with that, she turned on her heels and reappeared at Harper's side, still laughing to herself.  
  
The next day, Clarke was patrolling the walls and she rounded the corner along the stretch where you could see the pen-- and there was Bellamy Blake, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one saw him. He leaned over the side of the pen, wiggling a finger at the small herd of piglets that had rushed to the fence.  
   
 _Shenanigans._ Clarke chuckled to herself.


	13. paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

Clarke rushed through the gates of the camp, red spattered across her cheeks and down her shirt. Bellamy dropped the stack of sticks he was carrying across the yard and rushed her. 

"Oh my, god. Clarke!" His hands were searching her body for some sort of injury, an open wound-- something. "What happened, who did this, are you okay." His hands stopped, gripping the sides of her face. 

She stared at him surprised, a smile creeping on to her face.

"Uh, Bellamy... it's paint." 

Bellamy, realizing he was still cradling her face, dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. He cleared his throat, "Oh-- erm, of course. I mean, yeah. What? Yeah, I'll be there in a minute Jasper!" 

Clarke cocked her head in amusement as  he turned on his heels and headed toward the gate she had just entered from. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasper standing by the drop ship, confused as all hell. 

She laughed to herself as she shook her head and entered her tent, just coming back to grab a change of clothes so she would go wash up after working on making paints for the new huts they were building on the edge of camp.


	14. pencil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

They laid side by side on the small pallet in Bellamy's tent. Clarke was nestled into his side, head resting at the crook of his shoulder while Bellamy played with a strand of hair idly.  
  
The camp was quiet-- it was late and it had been a long day. They had finished the third, and biggest, building as they began to establish and expand their camp to sustain them long term. So far, they had completed two dorm-like structures, with enough room to sleep ten each comfortably, and the third-- a town hall-like structure for eating, planning and general leisure.   
  
"I'm glad that the hall finally came together," Clarke hummed.   
  
Bellamy turned his head slightly to look at her. "You made a hell of a blueprint,  _Princess_." The nickname didn't have the same acidity behind it anymore. The bated heat had long since disappeared-- not that they didn't ever fight anymore, nowadays it usually ended up with the two of them pressed up against each other sweaty and naked.  
  
"Yeah, well, I used up the last bit of lead from the pencil on that blueprint, so it better have been worth it."   
  
Bellamy rolled away from her-- Clarke's body aching from the noticeable warmth and support she had grown accustomed to-- and she let out a small whimper. Bellamy threw a small smirk over his shoulder. He sat hunched over the edge of the bed as he dug through his pack, finally procuring the item he was searching for. He tucked it behind him as he rolled back to the sleepy looking girl beside him.  
  
Clarke searched his features for some sort of clue, "What?" She asked.  
  
He smiled, and held out his gift-- a pencil lay in his open palm, it hadn't even been sharpened. Clarke gasped and sat up and she took it from his hand.   
  
"Where did you find this?" Adoration swept across Clarke's expression as she cradled the pencil in her fingers, as though it were fragile.   
  
Bellamy sat up to meet her, smiling. "That storehouse we found last week? This little guy had rolled behind a giant container of expired fruit preserves."   
  
The light from their lantern illuminated Bellamy's face and danced across his freckles.   
  
"I was saving it for a special occasion, but now seemed like a good time too..." He said apprehensively-- sometimes he felt so oddly shy when it came to Clarke. He just wanted to provide for her and make her happy.   
  
"I love it," she beamed, leaning closer in to him. Heat radiated between them as Bellamy closed to the space remaining, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He felt her smiled against his mouth and warmth bubbled up inside him.   
  
"Maybe we should put this somewhere safe," Clarke whispered between kisses. There was a muffled  _mhm_ , and Bellamy's hand closed around the pencil, reaching blindly for the small table beside the pallet-- finding it and setting the instrument aside. His hand returned to Clarke, reaching up to cup her face as he pulled her down on top of him.


	15. sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

Clarke stopped abruptly in her tracks, Bellamy, who was trailing behind her, nearly knocked her over. In front of them laid a field of a plant Clarke hadn't come across in their time on Earth before.   
  
"Oh, my god."  
  
Bellamy scowled, "What?"  
  
She turned to look at him, "Do you know what this is?"  
  
"Should I?"   
  
Clarke turned back to the greening plot expanding in front of them. She was beaming.  
  
"Clarke, what is it?"  
  
"I'm only about 95% sure... but I think this is sugar cane." Clarke said excitedly. "Although... it's not supposed to be common in these parts." She looked around, biting the inside of her cheek anxiously.  
  
"When have we discovered something down here that  _didn't_  surprise us?" Bellamy laughed.  
  
Clarke had moved closed to the stalks, her small hand reaching out to touch one. Bellamy watched her with curious eyes. He did that a lot these days. Anything that made her smile was worth learning more about. Like, the batch of lemonade that Harper had made, and the box of art supplies they had stumbled upon in the old Storehouse a few weeks ago, and the soap the Grounders had taught them to make.   
  
"God, can you imagine what we could do with this? Food, roof thatching, molasses--  _rum_."  
  
Bellamy smiled at that thought of a tipsy Clarke, a warm flush in her cheeks, uninhibited. Clarke was practically dancing at the very sight of the sugarcane and suddenly Bellamy leaned down, placing his hands on the sides of her face and planted a kiss on her lips. He pulled back immediately, realizing what he had done. Her eyes grew wide, "I--" she stammered.   
  
Bellamy just stood there, hands dropping to his side. "I--I don't know--" Bellamy mustered, before swiftly turning on his heels and retreating back towards camp.   
  
Clarke remained planted in the same spot, fingers ghosting over her lips-- they still prickled with heat from the unexpected endearment.  
  
That wasn't exactly the kind of sugar she had been excited about... but she wasn't exactly disappointed. 


	16. accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

Clarke retracted from Bellamy's grasp. They were both breathing heavily as Clarke clenched her jaw.  
  
"That... was my only shirt, Bellamy."  
  
Bellamy bit his already puffy lip apologetically as he held a small piece of fabric in his hands. Things had gotten a  _little_ too heated between them-- he has never been a real patient guy.   
  
He had just returned from a hunting trip and he had headed straight to Clarke's tent, his body aching for hers. She had been standing over the small table, maps and drawings scattered about-- her face frozen as she studied the materials splayed out in front of her.   
  
He stalked over to the corner, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush with his as he began to place small fluttering kisses down her neck and collarbone. Soon he had shed her of her jacket and they had made quick work of his jacket and shirt. Bellamy had grabbed onto the hem of her shirt, not watching the placement of his hands and his mind fuzzy with want.   
  
"You ripped my last shirt, Bellamy. Now what am I supposed to wear?" Clarke crossed her arms against her chest.   
  
Bellamy shrugged shamelessly, "I'd rather you not wear anything."  
  
Clarke punched his arm playfully, "Yeah, well, you can explain that to the rest of the camp when I get sick from lack of clothing in the winter time."  
  
Bellamy flashed her one of those smiles-- damn that boy. "It was an  _accident?_ " He offered, rolling his body back into hers, locking his fingers together behind her and leaning in to meet her forehead.   
  
She shook her head as she tried not to smile,  _"Damn it, Bell."_  
  
Bellamy laughed and scooped her up, dropping her on the pile of bedding and hovering over her. She held her hand up against his chest to stop him, "You know this means I'm taking one of yours, right?"   
  
Bellamy covered her mouth with a hot kiss, _"Yeah, whatever."_


	17. photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

Bellamy was hunched over a small pile in the corner-- the hunting party had come across another bomb shelter that had been abandoned long before the nuclear apocalypse. He was sifting through the outdated electronics and broken wares to see if anything was salvageable.  
  
"Hey! Look at this!" He looked over at his shoulder to see the only remaining team member in the room was Clarke, who was standing in front of a large bookcase studying the bindings-- trying to determine if any were worth pulling off the shelf (who knows what kind of deterioration the books had endured).   
  
"Hm?" Clarke slowly pulled her eyes away from  _1001 Plants and Their Uses_. "Oh." She squinted at the object in Bellamy's hand.   
  
"I read about these camera's-- I think it's a Polaroid." Bellamy held the camera gingerly in his calloused hands.   
  
Light crept into the small bunker through the hatch they had entered, created a soft glow around the room. Bellamy looked up at Clarke-- she looked kind of like an angel with a halo of light encompassing her.   
  
"I've never seen an actual photograph," Clarke thought out loud. "But there's no way that thing still works."  
  
Bellamy grinned, "Worth a shot, innit? Say cheese!" He held the camera up to his face as Clarke shied away, laughing! "No, not me!"   
  
The shutter sounded and a small piece of filmy paper ejected from the bottom of the Polaroid camera. Clarke scrunched her nose as Bellamy held up the photograph.   
  
"Huh," he huffed. "It's just grey. Well, it was been hundreds of years."  
  
Clarke shook her head, "I'm going to go check on Raven."   
  
Bellamy set the photo on the floor as she left the room, and continued to dig through the pile of equipment.   
  
"Bellamy, time to move if we want to make it back to camp before dark!" He heard Raven call down through the hatch. He moved to stand up, brushing a thin coat of dust from her pants when a small reflection caught his eye. He leaned over and noticed that the small filmy paper wasn't gray anymore. It wasn't a full development, but it had developed enough. Clarke. Shying again with a quiet smile. Light dancing around her.   
  
Bellamy cradled the small photo in his hand. A small  _whoa_  escaped his lips as he studied it.   
  
"Bellamy!" This time is was Clarke calling, he snapped to attention.  
  
"Yeah! I'm coming!"   
  
Before climbing the ladder up to the surface, he tucked the small photograph into the front pocket of his jacket.   
  
He didn't think he'd tell Clarke about it. She found it on her own, months and months down the road. She had been tidying up their tent-- their clothes strewn all about-- when she found it, just a corner sticking out front the pocket.   
  
Bellamy was still asleep and she studied the picture, eyes moving from the man to the picture. She smiled to herself. She wouldn't tell him she found it. It was his own private treasure. She was his treasure.


	18. hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt.

She found him down by the creek. It was dark, but she managed to make out his figure sitting on a large stone, knees pulled his chest. She sat down beside him quietly, not wanting to spook him. 

His breathing was labored. He was fighting back tears-- anger.

Clarke hesitantly placed her hand on his back and began to rub small circles against the fabric of his t-shirt, in hopes of soothing his nerves.

"They took her hostage, Clarke."

"I know."

He let out a deep sigh.

" _Hey,_ " Clarke whispered, bringing her hand to rest on his knee.

Bellamy barely turned his head.

"We'll figure it out,  _together._ "

He nodded silently. Clarke left her hand on his knee-- Bellamy covered it with his own. They stayed like that for a while, sitting-- quiet. 


	19. things are better now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bellamy getting jealous of how close miller + clarke have become after being rescued from mount weather.

He had never had a problem with Miller being there at every turn. On more than one occasion, Miller had saved his ass; been his right hand man. He trusted Miller more than he trusted himself sometimes.   
  
But now he was looking at Clarke like she hung the moon. Clarke never saw it though. She was blissfully oblivious to Miller’s hand hovering at the small of her back when they are poring over maps and blueprints.   
  
He couldn’t understand why his stomach pulled tightly when he caught her laughing— head thrown back in ecstasy, body vibrating with joy.   
  
She never used to do that.  
  
Things were better now.  
  
Camp was secure.  
  
Peace was negotiated.   
  
 **Things were better now.**  
  
 _Weren’t they?  
  
_ He played with a dried-up leaf, letting it crumple in his hand as the fire snapped in front of them— meat dangling on the spit.   
  
Clarke and Miller were sitting next to each other, arms touching, opposite him. He leaned back against the log, head resting at an angle so they wouldn’t think he was staring.   
  
Miller suddenly caught his eye, sharing a short look with the man he’d lay down his life for. Miller noticed the same twinge of pain behind Bellamy’s dark eyes and he narrowed his eyes, giving him a short nod.   
  
Bellamy broke away his gaze with a small nod and went back to the remains of the leaf in his fingers.  
  
He felt a sudden heat appear next to him and he turned his head ever so slightly, small golden waves cascading down her shoulders.  
  
She picked up a leaf and began to play with it as well— both of them sitting there in silence.  
  
"Things are better now," she said softly.  
  
Bellamy let out a small grunt of acknowledgement.   
  
"We’re all here."  
  
"Not all of us," Bellamy retorted, suddenly regretting his tone.  
  
"Things are  _better_  now. You’re still here.”  
  
She reached out and covered his hand with hers— much smaller and softer than his own. He responded, twisting in her grasp so that he could entangle their fingers. He tugged them slightly, and brought them to his lips— placing a small kiss on her knuckles.  
  
"Yeah. Things are better now."


	20. untitled [1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you want me to wear what?

It was unbearably hot-- even if he was wearing next to nothing, he must be hallucinating. (The people by the sea didn't have a very modest dress code.)   
  
Bellamy had been taken weeks ago, only to be adopted into the village-- biding by their rules and biding his time. The coastline went for miles, and there was very little cover save a small wooded area towards the north-- so when he saw a flash of unruly blonde hair and tanned skin in contrast with the greenery of the forest he did a double take.   
  
"There's no way." He said to no one in particular, crouching down behind a large rock. He peered out, trying to find the shadow against the white sand.   
  
There she was, covered in twigs and mud. Her head flung from side to side in a manic manner. Bellamy took off from his position, keeping his body low to the ground. He took a roundabout path to the girl, coming up behind her and tackling her to the ground, hand shooting to her mouth.  
  
Muffled screams and flailing limbs attacked Bellamy as he hushed her, "Clarke, Clarke it's me."   
  
A glint of recognition took over her eyes, her breathing slowed as she began to calm down.   
  
"I'm going to move my hand, you have to stay quiet. Do you understand?"   
  
She nodded under the weight of his body straddling hers.   
  
He slowly removed his hand, "Bellamy?" She croaked, her hands coming up to his face. Touching the contours of his face, running her thumb across the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He turned his hand into her palm, kissing it softly.  
  
+  
  
They sat in the shade of the forest for a moment, camouflaging their resting spot from the scouting crew that made its way up the beach.   
  
Bellamy told her about getting capture by the sea people, earning their trust so they allowed him to join their counsel.   
  
"They will kill you on the spot if they find out you came from the sky. I managed to convince them I had been beaten and abandoned on a supply trek from a village at the base of the mountain-- it at least explained the blood on my hands."   
  
"But you were attacked by Grounders. I lost you." Her eyes were sad.  
  
He wrapped his hand around her reassuringly. "Hey, I'm here now."  
  
He told her about their camp, their rituals and traditions.   
  
She told him about her escape from Mount Weather with Anya and being taken back to the Grounder camp, and escaping in the middle of the night. She'd been running for days.   
  
"You have to come back to camp with me, but you can't come looking like that."  
  
"What arm I supposed to do about that?"  
  
Bellamy smiled, "Wait here."  
  
Bellamy took off back towards the coast, leaving Clarke to wait in the shadows of the wood. He returned nearly two hours later with a small bundle of cloth.  
  
"You want me to wear what?!" She exclaimed, staring at the scraps of fabric.  
  
"This is what the women wear!" Bellamy offered.  
  
Clarke held the outfit up to her chest. There was no way this was going to cover anything. Bellamy shrugged, trying his damnedest to hide his smug grin.  
  
She waves her hand, motioning for him to turn around. He does a slow, calculated 180. She quickly peels off her muddy exterior and slips into the lightweight attire of the sea people. Clarke clears her throat as she finishes, Bellamy turning around to give her a once over.   
  
"You never looked better," he teased, eyes raking over her long toned legs and soft core. She was smattered with an array of bruises, but that would feed into her cover story with his people.   
  
She cocked her head, rolling her eyes.   
  
"Let's go Princess."


	21. untitled [2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that's a nice white shirt you're wearing today Clarke, did you see the thunder clouds coming our way.

Clarke adjusted the pack, trying to relieve some of the pressure it was putting on her shoulders. Her back was sticky with sweat and her hair clung to her neck as the humidity intensified. She had stripped down to her tank top before leaving camp, craving any sort of relief from this heat that late spring had delivered.  
  
Bellamy trailed behind her, alert and aware of the new noises and smells that the blooming forest had to offer.   
  
They hadn’t been hiking that long, it couldn’t be but midday when Bellamy noticed the sky darkening above them. The hairs on his arm began to stick up, static electricity filled the air.   
  
"Clarke, hold up."  
  
"Hm?" Clarke whipped around, thumbs hooked through the straps of her pack, pushing her chest forward.   
  
Bellamy cleared his throat, and pointed to the sky. “There’s a storm coming.”   
  
"We’ll be fine."  
  
"No, seriously, Princess. The sky is about to open up."  
  
Clarke gave Bellamy a sour look. “Well, what the hell do you want to do then? We’re hours away from camp!”   
  
Bellamy shrugged, “We should find somewhere to wait out the storm.”  
  
As if on command, a fat rain drop landed on his face. A smug grin spread across his face as he raised an eyebrow at Clarke. The droplets began to fall faster and harder, until is was pouring and they were both still standing there.   
  
Clarke closed her eyes and let the water fall over her— holding her hands out to catch a small puddle in her palm. Bellamy was transfixed on the blonde in front of him, water dripping from his messy mop of hair into his eyes. He moved to brush his hair from his forehead, trying not to notice how  _very_  see-through Clarke’s shirt had become and he felt a small twitch below his waistband.   
  
She opens her eyes and looks at him, smiling.  
  
"Nice white shirt."  
  
"What?"  
  
Bellamy nodded toward her chest.  
  
Clarke looked down, realizing the magnitude of the situation.  
  
Bellamy expected her to freak out; cover her chest; chastise him for commenting on it. But instead— she took a small step forward, closing the gap between them.  
  
She looked at from from under eyelashes— dancing with small droplets of water. “You like what you see?”   
  
Clarke bit her lip and Bellamy felt his jeans tighten again— he did  _not_  expect that from his princess. There was a loud clap of thunder, and before Bellamy realized what was happening, Clarke grabbed the straps of his pack and pulled herself to his lips. Her mouth was salty and it only made him want more as he brought his own calloused hands to cup her face— fingers tangling in her wet hair.  
  
When they finally broke apart, they were breathing hard— lips swollen as water continued to fall from the sky.  
  
"Let’s find somewhere to  _warm up_  and get out of the rain, yeah?” Clarke breathed.  
  
Bellamy could only nod. Maybe they should get caught in the rain more often.


	22. untitled [3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dad, mum said we have to have a wash if we want to have dinner tonight?

Bellamy was sitting at the makeshift desk; elbows on the edge while his fingers massaged his temples. He had returned from a scouting trip earlier that day and his body ached from exhaustion. Winter had been kind to them and Spring was well on it’s way. The weather getting warmer also meant that the camp was coming alive again, the kids running around, playing games in the courtyard area of their newly expanded campsite.   
  
He had retreated to his tent for silence and he had managed to steal away for five minutes before Jasper came traipsing into his sanctum, his partner in crime, Monty, in tow.   
  
"Daaaaad."  
  
"You’d better have a goddamned good reason for barging into my tent, Jordan." Bellamy dropped his fists against the wooden surface.  
  
Jasper was back to wearing his goggles atop his mussed up hair, and Monty was popping some sort of nuts into his mouth. Both of them were filthy from trying to repair some sort of machine that had come down with the Ark.  
  
Though they had a separate camp from most of the adults that came down with the Ark, they were working together to create sustainable environments for each other. Bellamy and Clarke still oversaw a majority of the original group of delinquents and a fair amount of adults that had familial ties to them.   
  
Many of the kids had lost parents when the Ark came down— not all stations surviving the entrance to the atmosphere, and unfortunately they had latched on to Bellamy and Clarke as their parental figures.  
  
"Uh, mom said we have to wash if we want to have dinner tonight." Bellamy rose from his chair, breathing in a heavy sigh as he did a once over of the two grimy boys.  
  
"And?"  
  
"… and we don’t want to?"   
  
Bellamy blinked.  
  
Jasper had started to do some sort of pouty thing with his lip— Bellamy rolled his eyes.  
  
"The spring water is still so cold, and it’s already almost dark!"   
  
"… please?" Monty added.  
  
 _God, she’s gonna kill me.  
  
_ "Fine. But  _at least_  was your hands and your face so it  _looks_  like you went for a bath.”  
  
Jasper turned and gave Monty a high-five, broad smiles spread across their faces.  
  
"Hey!" Bellamy barked as the boys reached the flaps of the tent entrance.  
  
They turned to face him once more, “Don’t uh, don’t tell your mom… okay?”  
  
Jasper snorted as Bellamy ran his fingers through his hair— shoulders slumped in defeat as another episode  _let’s-just-ask-dad-he’ll-cave_  finished it’s run.   
  
 _I’m so not going to get laid this week._ He thought, trudging out to see if Clarke needed any help prepping for dinner with his hands stuffed in his pockets in embarrassment.


	23. hey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hug, _based on promo pics._

He swears his head was playing tricks on him. There was  _no_  way. Murphy and Finn hadn't returned-- he'd have been the first one to know.

But that voice. 

Octavia was talking about something and stopped mid sentence. He turned slowly, his eyes were dark and he was trying not to get his hopes up. 

But there she was. There was no mistaking those blonde waves and despite the bruises and blood-- her eyes were bright and alive.  _She was alive._

Her face softened immediately as her eyes met his.

"Oh my god." He whispered to himself. And he was in the middle of camp in a few short strides. Octavia trailed behind him.

They stopped short of each other by a few centimeters, as if to asses the other. 

"Hey." She whispered.

"Hey."

Octavia remained quiet where she stood, trying not to intrude on their moment.

Neither one of them knew who initiated it, but their arms were around each other and they were warm again. 

Clarke had closed her eyes as Bellamy buried his face in the crook of her neck-- breathing her in as if to make sure she was really there.

 _"Clarke."_ He breathed against her neck, unable to keep himself from smiling. He shut his eyes tight-- not wanting to wake up from this dream.

 _"I'm here, Bellamy. I'm here."_ She whispered.

And they stayed like that for who knows how long. It might have only been thirty seconds, but that was probably enough for a lifetime.

 


	24. new beginnings

Clarke sat in front of Wells grave, her head in her hands. The light had started to fade, and there was no denying Winter had overtaken Autumn. The tips of her fingers numb like she felt inside.

This is where she went when things got too hard. Wells would have known what to say; what to do but he wasn't here anymore and spot behind her eyes throbbed. She picked up small handfuls of soil, sifting it through her fingers as it fell back to the frozen earth. She brushed the wetness streaming down her cheek-- a streak of dirt replacing the salty tears.

This is how he found her, hunched over; legs splayed out in front of her; not wearing enough clothes for how cold it was outside. Bellamy knew he well enough-- he knew she'd have been too stubborn to grab another coat; he knew she'd be out here alone. Didn't she know he was hurting too? Didn't she know he was there? Of course she did, but this is how she coped; this is how she processed.

He tried to make enough noise to make himself known, but not so much as to startle her. She bowed her head, he knew she felt him standing there. She barely moved when he draped a large pelt around her shoulders and dropped into the space beside her.

"Hey, Jaha," Bellamy started, he heard her voice hitch with a small breath. "Thanks for always listening to Clarke. I know it's hard for her sometimes."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the pained look of her face-- her lips quivering like a dam about to burst.

He continued, "She's so strong, you know. You'd be proud of her. I know she misses you."

Clarke's body shook with a dry sob, every bit of her fighting the storm behind the walls. Bellamy was quiet for another minute. He ran his hand through his hair, his own eyes filled with an unfamiliar wetness.

"Clarke--"

"I'm so tired, Bell. I'm so, so tired." She whispered.

They'd been on the ground nearly a year a tensions were still high between the grounders and the remaining delinquents. Winter has come early and food sources were lower than ever. Exhaustion and sickness made regular rounds through camp, and Clarke was no exception.

She stared at her hands, covered in soot and still tinged with blood-- they shook violently.

Bellamy reached out to encase her hand with her own. They were much warmer, even if they were calloused and scarred. She closed her eyes, new tears spilling down her face.

"I didn't even know. How could I not have known?"

"Clarke, you've been sick-- you haven't had a solid meal in weeks. At the rate you push yourself, your body is practically attacking itself to find the energy it needs to get through the day-- it's not your fault."

She finally turned to look at him, "But-- I should have known, I could have done something. We could have found a way."

The fingers on her free hand ran idly along her stomach.

"How can I miss her so much-- I didn't even know she was there until she was gone."

A violent sob surged through her, and if she had had anything in her system, she would have thrown it up.

Bellamy retracted his hand and moved around so that he was kneeling in front of her, his hands cupping her face as she rocked.

"It's okay, it's okay." He whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers, squeezing his eyes shut as tears betrayed his bravado.

"It's not fair." Clarke whispered, their bodies embraced in a battle with a tidal wave of emotion and they fought for purchase as it swept through them.

Bellamy pressed a hot kiss into her hair and her hands buried themselves inside his jacket. Bellamy wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap-- her face leaning into his chest.

"Coming back to earth was supposed to be about life. Getting a second chance-- new beginnings. And everything just keeps ending."

He held her closer, "We'll get another chance-- you and me."

Clarke tried to look up at him, her wet eyelashes brushing the underside of his jaw.

"Losing this baby doesn't mean we can't bring life into this world. We are strong-- you are strong."

She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting toward a small mound of freshly turned earth next to Wells' grave.

"Do you think we can do it?" Her voice said, stronger this time.

"If anyone can-- it's you. Because, god, you're the strongest person I know."

She smiled at him, but sadness still hung behind her normally bright blue eyes.

Bellamy leaned down to brush his lips across the apple of her cheek, "Now can we please go home?" He whispered.

Clarke nodded, and Bellamy lifted her from their seated position. Not putting her down until they returned to comfort and warmth of their home. He set her on the edge of their bed and unlaced her boots, and peeled off her socks-- retrieving a dry pair from the basket near the hearth. Clarke removed her shirt and pants and grabbed one of Bellamy's extras, bringing her nose to the sleeve to breathe in his scent. Bellamy followed suit, changing into warm, dry clothes and he crawled into the bed next to her. Facing each other, Clarke curled her body against his, tucking herself under his chin-- her cold hands sliding beneath his shirt, running them over his warm torso.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his so every inch of them were touching. He knew she couldn't see his face, painfully biting back fresh tears. He hadn't realized how much he wanted a child-- a child with Clarke, until that very moment. And his heart ached with the loss-- but from that loss a new seed was planted. They would bring life back to earth, they would have their new beginnings-- and he would have it with her.


	25. fourteen seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hug, fourteen seconds.

"I'll catch up." Raven smiled. Clarke nodded and took off towards the gate. She wasn't running at first, mostly just trying to put one foot in front of the other. As she rounded the pole coming up from the ground, she had a clear view of him and her feet were moving before she could process it.  
  
-  
  
Bellamy took a deep breath as the woman led Mel away to the med-tent, he began to turn back to O as he kicked a loose piece of soil.  _They had saved one girl, only to lose one-- and now Finn and Murphy were separated, again._    
  
He didn't see her coming-- a small bundle of bruises and blonde hair hurtling toward him. He stumbled backward as arms snaked around his neck. He felt small hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt.  
  
His arms hung out to the side, fingers curled slightly as he tried to process what was happening.  _Princess?_  His turned his head slightly finally comprehending the warm body pressed up against his. He felt a wave of emotion bubble up inside of his.  _One beat. Two beats._  It clicked. Clarke. His Princess. She was  _alive._  His arms wrapped around her petite body, pulling her up closer-- she was standing up on her toes.   
  
They swayed a little, Bellamy shut his eyes, burying his head in the crook of her neck, smiling against her skin.  _She's alive. She's alive. She's live._ Like a marquee.   
  
-   
  
He was sweaty, and grimy and when she pressed her cheek against his, she felt the still warm blood from fresh cuts and she felt him flex his jaw and she felt his body stiffen. And then she felt him melt. His body folded down onto hers, pulling her up and his fingers pulled at the thick fabric of her jacket. She was smiling. She was crying. God she was glad he couldn't see her face.  _He's alive. He's alive._  
  
Abby had told her he was alive when he left with Finn and the others, but that was  _days_  ago. So much can happen in a day.  But he was  _here_  now. Tangible. She felt his body humming against hers. She felt his breath hitch, like a laugh, in relief.   _He's alive._    
  
-  
  
He closed his eyes tighter, he didn't want to let go. She was here.  _She was here._ In his arms,  _alive._  
  
They pulled apart, he didn't comment on the tears she quickly wiped away. He only saw her bright eyes shining back at him-- like looking at the stars, they sparkled like she was on top of the world. He smiled, exhaling his disbelief.  
  
-  
  
A day ago, Bellamy had been dead.   
  
-  
  
A day ago, Clarke had been dead.  
  
-   
  
_He's alive._  
  
-  
  
_She's alive._  
  
-  
  
The world can wait 14 seconds.


	26. girls gots needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> met while buying condoms at the corner store.

Why are there so many different brands? Sizes? Do textured ones feel better?

Clarke stood in the middle of the pharmacy aisle, hands fisted by her side as her eyes swept over the array of protection on display in front of her. She let out a small groan. She had no experience in buying condoms, but the guy she was seeing had expressed interest in… “coming over to watch a movie” tonight and she wanted to at least be prepared.

It wasn't anything serious, but she was in college now and she felt like she mature enough and ready to explore her sexuality as she pleased. Girls gots needs. But she also felt like completely useless as she kept picking up a box and setting it back down on the shelf.

"Ugh."

"I’d recommend these," a husky voice interrupted her internal monologue. Clarke turned her head slowly, feeling the heat of her skin turning red. There was a rather muscular man standing to her right and he was holding out a box for her to grab.

"Huh?" She squeaked.

"I don’t know, it’s what I use." He shrugged and he mussed his dark hair. "They’re just regular latex, but it’s a good brand. I doubt your partner is going to need any extra help in the pleasure department."

His eyes raked over her soft curves and Clarke was fidgeting as she felt heat pool in her core.

"Oh," she nodded, "Yeah, okay, thanks…"

Oh my god. Oh my god.

"Yeah, good luck." He said with a tilt of his head and he grabbed another box for himself and made his way to the counter. Clarke couldn’t help but stare at his backside. "Oh," he turned around suddenly, "but if you ever want to learn more about using these things," he held up the box, "I work next door at the bar, ask for Bellamy."

He winked and Clarke’s eyes grew wide. And she retreated to the opposite corner of the store until he had finished with his transaction.

She may have used a few from that first box before venturing to the bar next door— but it wasn't long after that that the box was emptied.


	27. tomato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter.

Bellamy hates staff meetings— but he still rushes to them, so he’s  _sure_  to get a seat in the back where no one can hear him mutter sarcastic obscenities.   
  
Today’s meeting had something to do with the staff lounge and the case of mysterious disappearing sandwiches.   
  
"Oh my  _god_ , nobody is eating your nasty peanut butter and tomato sandwiches,” he muttered under his breath.   
  
 _"Who the fuck even thinks to put tomatoes with peanut butter?!"  
_  
"What?" A breathless Clarke slid into the seat next to him, "What did I miss?"  
  
Bellamy straightened up in his seat. Normally Clarke is front row center for staff meetings, but Bellamy eyed her, fly-away hairs sticking out in several directions from her loose braid you could tell was done in about two minutes, and he was pretty sure the third button down on her blouse was undone.   
  
"You okay there, princess?" He raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
Clarke wet on of her fingers to try and smooth down her hair as she tried to slow her breathing, “I’m fine!” She snapped.  
  
"…if someone has written their name on an item in the community fridge…" Kane was still droning on.   
  
 _"Oh my god,"_ she moaned. “Is he going on about sandwiches again?!”   
  
Bellamy was surprised, Little Miss Perfect Employee?   
  
"We must protect the tomatoes, Clarke. At. All. Costs." He leaned down to whisper.  
  
She giggled. She actually giggled.  
  
Bellamy had rarely even seen this woman  _smile_  at work, let alone giggle. Normally she was all business, all the time.  
  
"I mean, if a man doesn’t have his tomatoes… what does he have at all?"   
  
She let out a snort— apparently Bellamy was highly amusing to the hot-mess version of Clarke.  
  
"Are there such things as tomato search parties?" She added, trying not to raise her voice with a hiccup of laughter.  
  
Bellamy was grinning like a fool, who knew Clarke could be…  _fun._    
  
"What kind of tomatoes does he even use?" He asked, mock seriousness masking his face. "It’s very important for filing the missing persons report."  
  
"My guess would be cherry. Because he probably still has his."   
  
This time it was  _Bellamy_  who practically choked.   
  
"Bellamy? Clarke? Is something the matter back there."  
  
Clarke’s hand flew to her mouth. “No, sir,” she managed.   
  
Bellamy slouched down and covered half his face with his hand.   
  
After the meeting, Clarke winked at him and sat down at her desk, all business. And Bellamy returned to his seat, unable to see much more than a glimpse of her blonde hair around the maze of an office.  
  
The clock signaled five and Bellamy was packing up his stuff when Clarke appeared at the side of his desk.  
  
"Hi," he smiled.  
  
"Hi, I have to stay fifteen more minutes because I was late this morning… but do you maybe want to grab a drink with me?"  
  
Bellamy didn’t even hesitate, “Absolutely.”


	28. mr. cinnamon sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm not hitting on you but you smell really good.

Bellamy had just finished his shift at the doughnut shop. He opened there and went straight to his job waiting tables at a restaurant downtown, and somehow he could never get rid of the smell of cinnamon and powdered sugar out anything.   
  
He hopped on the subway and found a seat near the back of the car. A few stops later a blonde in high-heels stepped on to the car and searched for an open seat— the only one being the one next to him. He tried to minimize the amount of space he took up, but he had broad shoulders and they brushed against hers at she sat down.   
  
Bellamy leaned his head against the window, the cool glass in sharp contrast with the stuffiness of the subway car. He glanced over to the girl beside him and she was rifling through a rather large tote bag with her phone in one hand. She had soft features— a cute dimple on her chin and a beauty mark just above her lip, and her hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves.   
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, his 4 A.M. wake up call was hitting him pretty hard. After a moment, he felt something leaning up against him— and they were breathing heavily. He opened his eyes and saw the girl— she was relaxed back into the seat, favoring his side and she seemed to be in the middle of  _something_  with her eyes closed and her mouth pursed just slightly.   
  
Bellamy cleared his throat, and she snapped out of her trance. “Oh my god.”  
  
Bellamy shrugged and smiled but the girl continued to look horrified.  
  
"Oh my god, no. I am so embarrassed you just… you smell  _so_ good, kind of like, cinnamon and I haven’t had anything except for a cup of coffee, or three— and oh god, you smell like Christmas.”  
  
Bellamy laughed, “It’s okay, I can never seem to get that smell out of my clothes after work.”   
  
"Oh god, you smell like this  _all the time?”_ Her eyes were wide, maybe it was just the caffeine.   
  
"Ha, not intentionally."   
  
Clarke looked down, blushing.   
  
"I’m Bellamy," he said, offering his hand.  
  
"Clarke," she replied.  
  
"Clarke, how about you join me for some food— try and counteract all that caffeine running through your bloodstream."   
  
She smiled, “I would really love to, but I am running late for class and I—”  
  
"It’s okay," he stopped her and gently took her phone from her hand. He input his information and sent himself a text. "I’m going to text you the address of the restaurant I work at… when you’re finished with your class you come in and ask for me, deal?"  
  
Clarke took her phone back, “Yeah, okay Mr. Cinnamon Sugar.”   
  
"Bellamy."  
  
"Okay, Bellamy, see you then."   
  
Clarke got off at the next stop, stopping briefly at the door to look back at Bellamy who just laughed and waved.


	29. kiss cam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> strangers who end up on the kiss cam at a sporting event.

The roar of the crowd was nearly deafening as the second period buzzer went off— the Arcadian Phoenix up by one goal. Clarke was donned in navy and gold, next to her  _very_ unamused best friend Raven, who only agree to coming to a hockey game because the tickets were free and her roommate had book club at their apartment.  
  
Raven sighed heavily, “How much longer?”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Clarke turned her head slightly, “One more twenty minute period.”   
  
"Ugh, I think I’m going to go to the skate shop on the lower level— they have a cool machine for sharpening skates. Maybe they’ll let me pick it apart."   
  
Clarke shrugged, the guy on her left had returned to his seat with a drink— he looked like he had come alone. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his olive skin and loose dark curls fell messily around his forehead— she definitely wasn't blind to how attract he was. He had set his cup onto the ground by his feet and relaxed back into the cold, plastic stadium chairs.   
  
His was resting his elbows on the shared armrest between their seats, with no apparent qualms to encroaching on her personal space. She shifted in her seat, causing their arms to brush up against each other.   
  
"Sorry," she muttered, offering a small smile.   
  
He only nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half smile and his eyes crinkling slightly.   
  
_Oh, god. Freckles._  
  
The large scoreboard above the rink began to flash images of hearts and the music began to gush a bubble-gummy pop song as the  _KissCam_  took over the audience. Clarke chuckled to herself,  _how stupid._    
  
It stopped on an elderly couple that gave a cute peck on the lips— another couple— a mom who kissed her young son sloppily and embarassingly on the cheek— and then there they were.  
  
_Oh no._ Her eyes darted to both sides of her, Raven’s empty seat to her right— handsome stranger on her left. She started shaking her head, watching herself on the screen above.   
  
She saw him shrug, but he had an amused little grin on his face.  
  
He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.  
  
"You don’t have—" Clarke started, but he had cupped her face and brought his lips down on hers.  
  
His lips were a little chapped, but he was gentle and his hand burned her skin. She started to pull away after a short beat but he peppered smaller kisses against her lips, his mouth pulling gently at hers— making her feel dizzy.   
  
Clarke could hear the crowd around them whooping as she finally managed to separate them, her fingers absentmindedly floating to her lips that still prickled with a fiery aftertaste. She blinked at him as he licked his lips and settled back into his seat as though nothing had just happened.  
  
The  _KissCam_  had finished its rounds and the two teams had returned to the ice to prepare for the final period.   
  
"Uh—" she started when Raven had slotted herself back in to the empty space beside her, unaware of the red state of Clarke’s face.  
  
"They wouldn't let me near the machine, something about  _company policy._  Bullshit, if you ask me. Did I miss everything?”  
  
She finally looked at Clarke.  
  
"No?" Clarke offered.  
  
"Damn," Raven slouched back into her seat. Clarke sneaked a look back at Mister Freckles.   
  
He was already looking at her, a  ~~sexy~~  smug smile plastered on his face. Her mouth dropped open a little bit and he turned to watch the rest of the match. It took every bit of energy and focus for the next 20 minutes to keep her eyes on the rink and not on the handsome stranger sitting  _way too close._  
  
When the final buzzer rang and the crowd cheered for the big Phoenix  **W,** Raven was yammering on about how boring hockey was and that she needed to go take something apart or she was going to lose her mind. Clarke was having troubled concentrating on what she was saying or doing because handsome stranger had stood up.  _He nearly towered over her_. He reached out with something in his hand. Clarke had a confused scowl and he nudged it in her direction. She took it cautiously before he turned to leave— it was a small piece of the players program with something scribbled on it.   
  
_Bellamy Blake 557-8329_  
_call me or something_  
  
Clarke gaped, he was nearly to the end of the row.  _Ah, what the hell._  
  
"Bellamy!"   
  
He turned, hands shoved in his pockets.  
  
"My name is Clarke."  
  
He beamed, “Call me, _Clarke_.”   
  
Clarke nodded, she was blushing and she knew he could tell. He winked at her and jogged up the stairs to the exit.   
  
Clarke spun around and Raven was staring at her.  
  
"What the hell did I miss?"


	30. separate on the surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haven't seen you since that night we spent together and i want to leave the room but were locked inside and god this is awkward + my parents are coming over in 10 minutes so please put some clothes on.

_“We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep.”_  
_―_  William James

Light streamed in through the blinds, and Clarke groaned as she rolled over— bare limbs tangled in messy sheets. She was met with a wall of hot skin and firm muscles. In a sleepy haze, his arms wrapped themselves around her, her small body enveloped as he casually nuzzled his face into her hair. 

Clarke allowed herself to smile into his chest, peppering small kisses along his collarbone. She heard him humming against her when suddenly it hit her like a ton of fucking bricks.

She was house sitting for her parents, and the one rule—  _the one rule_  they gave her: no overnight house guests. 

"Oh, my god." She croaked, dragging herself out of his embrace. Fumbling over the entanglement of legs and sheets, she practically falls out of the bed— ass up, head down. Clarke hopped back on her feet, moving to grab her underwear from across the room. 

"Get up, Bellamy." 

He turned his head into the pillow and moaned.

“ _Bellamy!_ " She shouted, tossing a jumble of jeans and shirts at his face.

Bellamy threw his arms back in umbrage and Clarke rolls her eyes at the appearance of a thin lipped frown.

"My parents are going to be home any minute, and I broke  _the only rule_  that they gave me— I had an overnight guest.  _And also_ —” she stopped suddenly, “a personal rule— don’t sleep with people you work with.”

Clarke let out a sigh as she shimmied her way back into her pants, as Bellamy sluggishly pulled himself to the edge of the bed. He moved at a snails pace— she did  _not_  watch his bare back side as he faced away from her, pulling on his pants with absolutely no urgency. 

The familiar heat pooled in her core and she shook her head, trying to refocus. 

"You have to  _go!”_  She closed the gap between them, tugging on him to stand up at the moment her phone beeped. “Shit— shirt— on, now.” She demanded, racing to her phone:  _Be home around 11, Mom—_ flashed across her screen, and she glanced at the time, 10:48. 

Clarke was pulling and leaning on Bellamy, grabbing his wallet and his phone and thrusting them in his face. She finally managed to get him to the door and he braced himself on the doorway with Clarke leaning her full weight on him. 

"What, no good-bye kiss, Princess?" He smirked.

"I will  _literally_  kick your ass— go!” 

Bellamy laughed and leaned down to brush his lips against hers, she snorted in exasperation. “Pleaaase,” she groaned.

He finally backed out of the door and trudged across the lawn to his car that was parked on the curb, he stopped at the drivers door to give her a small wave and she shook her head and closed the door, silently gliding to the window to watch him pull away. 

She closed her eyes as she let out a deep breathe.  _Oh god._

* * *

A week later, she had returned to work after attending a conference and she braced herself. She hadn’t seen or talked to Bellamy since their… hook-up, and she wasn’t sure what affect it would have on their working relationship. 

Mostly, she just wanted to avoid the entire situation.

She ducked into the office and headed to her corner desk to turn on her computer. Maybe if she busied herself, she wouldn’t have to deal with it at all. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bellamy slink into the office— his stupid  _casually_ disheveled hair and button down shirt fitting just  _ever so_  snugly around his muscular body. She let out a slow breath as she scanned through her e-mails in pointed concentration. 

The whole day she did her best to avoid Bellamy— even though she could feel his eyes burning a hole in her head. She knew her face was betraying her. She knew, that he knew, that she knew… he was watching her. 

She’d packed a sandwich for lunch and ate it at her desk— she avoided bathroom trips, unless he was on the phone, and she was saving all of her copy-machine jobs in a pile to do at the end of the day. 

Around two, she received a phone call and a client needed a fax sent over immediately— and there was no avoiding walking past Bellamy’s desk now, which sat just in front of the fax machine.  

Clarke picked up her head and made her way to the machine, papers in hand and punched in the number as Bellamy spun around in his chair. He leaned back, hands clasped, resting on his stomach, while he observed her working. 

She finished the job and began to make the journey back to her own corner, walking briskly past last weeks lover. She heard him push back from his desk and before she knew it, he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the storage closet— door closing behind them.

_Click._

Clarke fumbled for the light, turning it on to see Bellamy was standing just a few inches in front of her. 

"No, we’re not doing this," Clarke muttered and moved for the door, turning the knob only to realize it locked from the outside. "No. No, no, no," she groaned. 

"Oops," Bellamy shrugged, "I think it locks from the inside… and I definitely do not have the key." 

Clarke spun around slowly, “What?” She hissed.

"Whatever, it doesn’t matter— we need to talk about this."

"There is no…" Clarke waved her hand at the small space between them, " _this._ We hooked up, it was fun. Now we move on.” 

Bellamy chuffed, “No, this? C’mon Clarke, there’s  _something_ here.”

Clarke deflated, “No, we had a few too many drinks after work— we both got what we needed out of it, it’s fine. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

"Hey, speak for yourself, princess. There’s no way you didn’t feel  _anything_  after that night.”

A small creased formed between her eyebrows and there was a conflicted gleam in her eye. The silence between them grew uncomfortable. 

After a while, Clarke finally breathed, “We work together.”

"And?"

"And? And it never works out, Bellamy! Things go sour, and the job  _I happen to love_  gets put in jeopardy, and things are messy, people have to choose sides. I won’t do it, I just won’t.”

"Fine. Then I quit."

Clarke choked, “What? No. Bellamy, that’s not— you can’t—”

Bellamy stepped closer, his hand now hot along her jaw as he brushed his thumb along her porcelain skin. 

"Clarke, I don’t care about this job— what I do care about is you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel anything. Don’t tell me you’re not curious to see what we could become."

Clarke’s mouth opened, as if ready to say something but then she shut it— instead biting the inside of her cheek in frustration and looking at the floor. 

Bellamy tilted her face back up to hers, “Look at me, I’m serious, Clarke. In a heartbeat, I’d quit— if that’s the only thing keeping you from this.”

Clarke melted against his touch, a soft noise escaping from the back of her throat. “Are you even sure about this?” She closed her eyes as she leaned against his full hand now cupping her face.

Bellamy let out a soft laugh, “I’ve never been more sure.” 

He felt her smiled against his palm, “Is that a yes, Clarke?” He pressed his forehead down against hers. 

She looked at him, their noses brushing against each other. “Yeah,” she breathed. 

Bellamy pulled her against him, lips crashing together in desperation— as if trying to drown himself in her kisses. 

They pulled apart, chests heaving, and Clarke shook her head, A smile dancing across her lips, ”And don’t be an idiot, you don’t have to quit your job.” 

Bellamy laughed, “Yeah, okay. Let’s get out of here, huh.”

Clarke scrunched her face, “No key— remember?” She pointed at the handle. 

"Oh. Yeah, about that. I totally have the key," he said, a sly smile plastered on his face.  _The idiot._

Clarke punched him playfully in the arm, “Bellamy!”

A just shrugged and opened the door swiftly, “After you, princess.”

"You’re going to pay for that."

"Oh god, I hope so." He beamed.


	31. nothing in space as promising as the view from a ferris wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kissing booth at a carnival.

"I can’t believe your mom signed us up for this, Clarke." 

Clarke made a face at Wells from the passenger seat as they drove to the carnival. ”It’s not like I want to do this any more than you do,” she protested.

Wells was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they pulled in to the parking lot. He turned into the first available spot and sighed, “Here we are.” 

There was a large Ferris Wheel towering over them and the paths were lined with colorful booths— children darting through the crowd covered in sticky pink cotton candy and carrying balloon animals.

Wells and Clarke were set to take the next shift of kissers at the Griffin & Griffin Family Practice Kissing Booth.

"Aren’t kissing booths an antiquated practice long since abandoned?"

Wells frowned, “Apparently not to your parents— this was their idea.” 

With heavy deflation, Clarke shoved open the door and dropped to the ground— Wells trailing after her as the weaved their way through the labyrinth of overly-cheery music and bright colors.

As they approached their booth, Clarke saw Jasper and Harper perk up at the sight of them— no doubt were they eager to finish their shift and head for the Bumper Cars. Stopping just short of the booth, the two stopped and looked at each other with pained knowing looks. One hour. They just had to survive one hour. 

Fifteen minutes later, they were set up behind the counter— Jasper and Harper had bolted the minute Clarke and Wells had shown up with only a quick,  _sorry!_  and Jasper handed her a stick of gum. 

So far, they had only had three customers— two ladies in their mid-forties that laid sloppy kisses on a traumatized Wells and one gentlemen near seventy who only asked Clarke for a sweet peck on the cheek. So far, Clarke felt like she could handle this. 

Another twenty minutes passed and Clarke began to get her fair share of business— a couple of nice pecks, one man who thrust his tongue into her mouth (she took a quick bathroom break to drown herself in Listerine after that) and a girl named Raven who insisted she’d rather get a kiss from Clarke than from Wells. 

With only ten minutes left in their shift, Clarke was started to think the day wouldn’t end completely horrible, until a greasy looking man-boy sauntered up to the booth and handed over his five dollar bill. He raked his eyes over Clarke’s body and she instantly felt a shiver go through her uncomfortably. 

"Hey, beautiful," he leered, "what’s your name?"

"Sorry, five bucks doesn’t earn you a name."

"Hey, Clarke— did you remember to—" Clarke turned to Wells returning to the counter, cutting him off with a glare and Wells retreated to the back again.

“ _Ooh,_ so it’s Clarke,” he let in a sick sing-song voice. 

Clarke managed to smile politely and moved to give the boy a quick peck— but he had other intentions. His grabby hands pawed at her face, tangling in her hair. His breathe smelt of cigarettes and stale beer as he shoved his tongue into her mouth against her protest. 

Clarke squirmed beneath his grasp, trying to free herself from his embracing. Muffled outcry as his persistence. 

Then the boy was flying away from her as another person had appeared between them, roughly shoving the boy away from the booth.

Clarke stood dumbfounded and violated as she watching the encounter, fingers wiping away the unwanted saliva from her mouth.

"Hey, watch it bro!"

"Clearly, the girl did  _not_  appreciate your approach,  _bro,_ " her rescuer asserted, as he sized up the scrawny in comparison assaulter. 

"I paid for that kiss!" He pressed, taking a step toward Clarke only to be met by large open palms again, stopping him in his place.

The broad stranger dug into his pocket with one hand, his eyes trained on the dirt bag, and pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill— shoving it to his chest. 

"And now you didn’t," he returned, cocking his head as if to give him permission to leave. 

He continued to have a stare-down with this kid until he finally gave up and backed away, spitting flatly as his eyes flitted back over to Clarke’s— who stood up a little taller as the boy retreated.

He watched until the grimy predator left the grounds before turning back to Clarke, and she was finally able to look at him— he was handsome. Messy brown hair and dark eyes that crinkled ever so slightly at the corners; freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose and broad shoulders that framed his muscular body. 

"Sorry about that," he muttered. 

Clarke smiled and shook her head, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for— that creep deserved that. I think you’ve earned yourself a kiss on the house for that display… uh…” 

"Bellamy—" 

"Bellamy, yes, I think so." 

He smiled  _(oh god, she could just melt)_  and kind of looked away bashfully, “You don’t have to do that, I think you’ve probably had your fair share of undesired kisses for an entire lifetime.”

"Who said I don’t desire this one?" She teased. 

Bellamy laughed and leaned in closer, his hot skin pressed against her cheek as he placed a feather light kiss along her jawline. He pulled back, her skin still on fire from the contact, and gave her a small nod. “Take care, princess.” 

"It’s Clarke," she offered.

He turned with a smile and shoved his hands in his pocket and Clarke bit her lip wistfully.

"Hey, Bellamy!" She called after two beats of hesitation.

He turned.

"I’m done in ten minutes, how do you feel about Ferris Wheels?" 

A large smile spread across his face, “I feel pretty good about Ferris Wheels.” 

"Good— it’s a date."

Half an hour later they sat in a chair at the top of the ride, overlooking the whole carnival— and Clarke decided Ferris Wheel first kisses were much more desirable.


	32. flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets a headache and Bellamy takes care of her? + person A is sick and Person B takes care of them.

i.

Clarke was sneezing and wheezing all day. She claimed she was fine but Bellamy could tell by the redness beneath her nose that it was taking a heavier toll than usual. 

"I don’t know wuh ih is." She blubbered though another sneeze.

Bellamy winced, “It might be that new plant Monty brought back into camp— it has a pretty potent pollen substance.” 

"Wuh do you know, Beyamy?" 

Bellamy cocked his head and handed her a small piece of cloth.

"I’ve had this is my pocket, like a kind of handkerchief. “I also talked to the guys in the kitchen, they said horseradish would help— they found a small plant just outside the gate and they’ll make up a small paste for you.”

"Tanks," Clarke looked at him apologetically.

He just stepped forward and kissed her on the forehead, “Don’t be so stubborn , princess.”

ii.

Bellamy woke to the sound of heaving and he found Clarke hunched over in the corner of their tent. She let out a pained groan and Bellamy threw back the blanket and appeared behind her, hand at the small of her back.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, "you okay?"

She sat back on her heels, head dropping back against his chest. “I think I ate some bad meat— you may want to have Myles doubled check the smokehouse and see how long we’ve had everything.”

Bellamy nodded and retracted himself from his position behind her, her body shivering from the sudden disappearance of heat. A few minutes later, he returned with a chipped mug, steam billowing off the top.

Clarke was pale and clammy, but Bellamy held out the mug, “Here, Monty says this should help ease the nausea.”

Clarke reached out to grab the mug as Bellamy sat back down beside her, wrapping his arms around her to tuck her close. Clarke immediately curled into him, and Bellamy’s fingers carded in her hair, stroking gently as dry heaves wracked through her weak body. 

He rocked them back and forth until she stopped shaking and she was able to fall asleep, her cheek resting against his chest. Bellamy took the opportunity to scoop her up and set on her the bed— pulling the covers up over her and easing his way in beside her.

He felt her cold toes press against his shin and he pulled them closer, limbs tangling together for shared warmth.

iii.

Bellamy entered their tent to find Clarke face down in her pillow, boots still on. 

"Clarke?"

"Go away," she groaned.

Bellamy approached the bed warily, “Clarke, I know this week is not a good one— I do keep track, you know.”

 _Of course he tracks her period._  Ever since their bodies had adjusted to a new metabolism and their menstrual injection had run it’s course, the women all over camp had begun their cycles— not used to the daily cramps and overall pains, and Clarke’s had been particularly bad. 

"Bellamy, I swear to  _God,_ you back away right now.”

She heard a rustle of the tent flaps and the silence returned.She rolled over and toed off her boots, she ran her hands along her lower stomach, which was bloated and her body felt like it was trying to shove a child out her birth canal. She let out a small cry and turned her face into her pillow, trying to blot out the tears.

The tent flap crinkled and Clarke’s eyes flew open, “Bellamy, what did I—” 

"Hey, calm the fuck down, princess." He rasped. "I love you, so you’re going to shut up, and let me help you."

Clarke deflated, “I’m sorry,” she muttered, trying to blink back tears. “I’m just so uncomfortable, and irritable— I know you’re trying to help.” She held a hand up to him. 

"I brought you a rice pack— to use as a heat source. It’ll help the cramps."

"What would I do without you?" She let out a breathy laugh.

Bellamy shrugged, teasing, “I don’t know that you could survive.” He winked and gave her hand a small squeeze. “I’ll be back later.” _  
_

"I love you," she murmured, pressing the heat pack to her lower belly and curling up around it in the bed.

\+ i.

Clarke found him in their bed— even though it was unusual for him to return before her. He had a hand pressed to his temple and he stared at the ceiling of the tent.

"Bellamy?"

He grunted, shifting awkwardly on the bed.

"What happened?" 

"We got jumped by a reapers— everyone is fine, but I’m a little beat." He winced as he pulled himself to a seated position. 

Clarke peeled off her coat settled herself between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. Her fingers cupping his face and carding through his tangled curls. He leaned his forehead onto her stomach and Clarke leaned down to kiss his hair. 

They stood like that for a minute, until Clarke was tugging his chin upward to look at her and she bent down to place a trail of hot kisses along his jaw— and finally his mouth, drinking in his taste and Bellamy let out a soft moan against her lips. 

His hands were firm on her waist as she climbed on top of him, helping him scoot backwards to allow her space to tuck her legs against his sides and lower him down on the bed. They were kissing lazily; edge of their lips, chins, necks— as Clarke’s fingers made work of his jacket buttons and zippers. 

"Clarke—" he whined.

"Shh, let me take care of you." She whispered against him, hand moving to his waistband as he let out a guttural noise.

"You."  _kiss below the ear_ "are"  _kiss on the hollow of his throat_  “always”  _kiss on the lips_ "taking care"  _pulling back on his bottom lip_  “of me.”  _She rose, hovering above him_. “Just, let me take care of  _you_ , tonight it’s about you, okay?”  _  
_

She reached up and lifted her shirt over her head and Bellamy melted back against the bed, allowing Clarke whatever purchase she needed, her fingers ghosting over tender spots and her mouth making work of feather light kisses along his hard planes. 

The woke up the next morning tangled together— hair matted down in sweaty, grimy messes and Clarke’s fingers traced his bruises idly. Together, they kept each other going and growing. Together, they were stronger. 


	33. lightning hides the color of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> both stuck in the dorm common room because their respective roommates needed “alone time”.

Clarke stared blankly as the large wooden door closed in her face and she bent over to grab her bag, swinging it up onto her shoulder before closing her eyes to let out a deep breath.

For the third time this week, Clarke had been  _sexiled_  to the common room of their co-ed dorm with just her laptop for company. She schlepped her way down the hall with every intention to collapse onto the big comfy couch that sat perpendicular to a heavily windowed wall, as she had the last two nights. Instead, she reached the normally deserted common area to find a large mass of sweatshirt and legs sprawled out on her couch. 

She cleared her throat and the person nestled down into the cushions stirred, pulling the hood down to reveal a messy mop-top of hair and smooth olive skin. 

A crease appeared between his eyes, “Yeah?”

It was Bellamy Blake, the junior that lived across the hall.

"What are you doing?" Clarke demanded, crossing her arms against her chest. 

He propped himself up on his forearms, his legs still swung over the arm of the couch. “Excuse me, princess— but this is a  _common_  area. For the community. As in, I can sit on this couch.”

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but of course, he was right— and she shut it somberly. Looking around the small area, she narrowed her eyes at the stiff arm chair and she plodded over with deflated shoulders— feeling Bellamy’s gaze boring hotly into her head. 

"Sorry," she mumbled under breath.

"What was that?" He held a hand up to his ear.

Clarke’s nose flared, “I’m  _sorry_ , my shitty roommate sexiled me for the third time and I really just love that couch and it’s Friday night and all I wanted to do tonight was curl up with my flannel blanket and Netflix without a care in the world.”

Bellamy let out a breathy laugh before plopping back on the cushions, “You too, huh?” 

“ _You_  got sexiled?” 

"Uh, yeah. My roommate met this girl at the bar and brought her back to he apartment— I came home from my shift at the library to a sock on the door knob and I definitely heard things through the door that I had no intention of interrupting.

Clarke gave him a knowing smile, “Sorry.”

It was quiet for a few minutes, Clarke watched him from the chair— his breathing was slow as he stared up at the ceiling and his shirt had ridden up from the awkward position he was laying in, revealing a thing strip of tanned skin and lower back dimples.

"You’re in my biology class, aren’t you?" 

Clarke had zoned out, staring at the  ~~hot-as-fuck~~  cute boy lounging across from her. “Huh?”

"Oh. Yeah… what are you doing in a freshman biology class, anyways?" 

Bellamy shrugged and tilted his head slightly to look at her, “I haven’t declared a major yet, just been taking a bunch of classes.”

Clarke scoffed, “That’s dumb, aren’t you a junior?”

He just shrugged again, “I like learning.” 

Clarke hummed,  _whatever_ , she breathed. Rain had started to pelt against the large windows and Clarke began to feel relaxed. She pulled out her Mac and a pair of headphones from her bag and turned it on.

The start-up sound rang out before Clarke could get her headphones plugged in.

"What’re you going to watch?"

Clarke looked up, Bellamy was eyeballing her again, and she shrugged. “I just downloaded a couple of Christmas movies— figured I could dream of a White Christmas, even if all it does is rain here.”

Bellamy smiled— kind of a goofy lopsided grin, “ _White Christmas_  is one of my favorites.”

Clarke laughed, “Really?”

"Sure, Bing’s the man."

"I wouldn’t have taken you for a classic musical kind of man."

"You don’t really know me that well, yet, do you?"

Clarke blushed.

"Can I watch with you?" He offered.

Clarke bit her lip, “Yeah, okay— but the sound of my computer isn’t very good.”

Bellamy pulled himself up, positioning himself on half the couch to offer the other side to Clarke. “Well, then we’ll just have to sit super close.”

A clap of thunder rang through the old building, and the lights flickered. 

Clarke sighed as she crossed the room, “Good thing I’ve got a full battery.” She joined Bellamy on the couch and curled her feet underneath her, balancing the laptop on her thigh. 

As she settled into place, she could finally see Bellamy up close. His smattering of freckles, his dimpled-chin and  _oh god did he smell good._  

The wind had picked up outside and the old window frames creaked under the pressure of the storm. Clarke looked over her shoulder at the window as she waited for the movie, unaware that her arm had come to rest on Bellamy’s.

The video began to play and Clarke snapped to, withdrawing her arm just slightly. Her face was on fire and she turned to focus on  _White Christmas._

The movie played and the two of them grew more relaxed— Bellamy’s arm stretching out behind her on the couch as he slumped inward toward her. The lines of their bodies met and held their position; steady breathing and warmth radiated between them.  

Another clap of thunder, and the lights in the room shut off completely this time and Clarke nestled down closer to the screen— Bellamy’s hand lowering from the back on the couch to brush against her shoulder. 

At some point in the movie, Clarke had dozed off— waking only to Bellamy nudging her gently as she opened her eyes sleepily.

"Hey," he whispered. "Your roommate came out and said you can come back whenever." His fingers combed through her hair idly.

Clarke hummed, she was burrowed into his chest and she listened to his heart hammering against his rib-cage.

"What time is it?"

"Near one."

"Hm, yeah. Okay." Clarke dragged herself into a seated position. She blinked a few times, trying to wake up. She noticed the hallway lights were on, but not the overhead ones— Bellamy must have kept them shut off for the movie.

She moved slowly, packing her things into her bag and then bending over to tie her shoes. 

She rose to her feet, bag hanging from her shoulder and she stared at him wistfully. “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

Bellamy smiled, “I do if you agree to go get coffee with me.”

Now Clarke was beaming, nearly tripping over her feet as she tried to back out of the room, “Yeah, okay. Ten?” 

Bellamy nodded with a sweet snicker before throwing himself down on the couch as she left.

_The next semester, Clarke and Bellamy were the ones doing the sexiling._


	34. new year's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off prompt: 'You can't expect of me to bypass a prompt like this - ‘i kissed the wrong person on news years’ au; sorry not sorry ♥' my blog of the year award #1 for my furiosaclarke, M.

Clarke adjusted her dress uncomfortably, it was black and hugged her curves attractively. Once she felt that she was as comfortable as she could be, she grabbed a small tube from the bureau and twisted it up. She brought the wine-red lipstick to her lips, only to be interrupted by the beeping of her pager.

After six months of living in Walden, Clarke had finally settled into a routine with work; she’d even managed to meet a few people. This new group of friends was the reason she was dressed to the nines on New Year’s Eve, and she really didn’t want this  _page_  to prevent her from being social and getting drunk on cheap champagne. 

_“Clarke, I need you to come back in. There was an accident on the highway, multiple injuries.”_

“It’s New Year’s Eve, mom.”

_“Then you know how crazy the ER can be, Clarke. And it’s Dr. Griffin-- I don’t think I need to remind you that I’m the Chief of Surgery in this hospital.”_

Clarke let out a sharp breath, playing with the lace overlay on the neckline of the dress. Pulling her phone away from her ear briefly, she checked the time: 9:07 PM.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied curtly. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

She’d been home all of an hour, following a 14-hour shift in the ER, and now Clarke found herself back in a pair of scrubs, angrily treating patients who were too fucking stupid to  _not_  drink and drive. 

After nearly two hours of stitching and bone resetting, Clarke found herself peeling off her latex gloves and tossing them in the trash in the break room. Abby joined her just minutes later, and they stood in silence as Clarke stirred her coffee, staring at the counter. She felt her mother’s eyes on her, so she rose up and set her shoulders back. “Is there something I can do for you, Dr. Griffin?”

“Clarke...”

Clarke raised her eyebrows in response.

Abby sighed. “Clarke, I appreciate you coming back in.”

“It’s my job.”

The older Dr. Griffin took a step towards her, and Clarke shifted uncomfortably. “You still have time to make it to that party,” she offered hopefully, glancing at her watch. 

Clarke’s anger deflated slightly and she tipped her head towards her mother. “Thank you.”

With a sharp nod and a tight lipped smile, Abby backed out of the room to return to her work and Clarke retreated to the locker room, racing to slip back into her little black dress and get to Octavia’s before the clock struck midnight.

Sliding into the seat of the cab, her phone flashed 11:34. The apartment was closer to the edge of town, and it was nearly fifteen minutes before the taxi pulled up in front of the Blake apartment. 

Clarke met Lincoln about a month ago at figure drawing class at the community center. It was through Lincoln that she’d met Octavia, who had latched onto her and introduced her to their social circle, which included Octavia's college roommate Maya and her boyfriend Jasper, Jasper’s best friend from elementary school Monty and  _his_  boyfriend Miller who also happened to be Octavia’s brother’s best friend... or something. 

Bellamy Blake was rather elusive. According to Octavia, he was working on his Master’s thesis and spent all of his time at the library.  _“God, Bell is such a nerd. I mean who spends in Christmas vacation in the library?!”_

There were a few others that floated in and out of their social group: Raven, one of the mechanics at the shop Jasper worked at; Wick, one of the engineers that worked at the same company as Monty, and Finn, who still hung out with the group despite having been dumped by Raven.  _“He’s like family, guys, he’s important to me-- even if we’re not together.”_

Clarke liked Finn. He was kind of boring, but he was sweet and he made Clarke laugh. She told herself that if she could find him before midnight, she’d surprise him with a kiss. What’s the worst that could happen? If it sucked, she’d blame it on the champagne. 

The apartment was  _packed_. Knowing Octavia, she probably invited the whole building and then some. It was sticky and hot, and she was thankful that she had forgotten her sweater in her locker. Pushing her way through the crowd, she found the table with several half-empty bottles of champagne, along with various other libations. She checked her phone:  _11:57._  

Quickly grabbing a glass, she scanned the room for Finn’s dark locks. The room was loud, and the lights had been dimmed, making it quite difficult to distinguish people from behind. Clarke spotted him from across the room and she began to weave in and out of the labyrinth of people.

_10... 9..._

Some idiot elbowed her in the boob.

_8.. 7... 6..._

Almost there.

_5... 4... 3..._

She circled around him and hooked her hand behind his neck, pulling his mouth onto hers.

_2... 1... HAPPY NEW YEARS!_

The room exploded with cheers, Clarke heard nothing but the blood in her ears as she melted into the kiss, eyes shut tightly as warm hands found her hips. God, who knew Finn would be such a good kisser. Full lips, just enough tongue that Clarke accepted him eagerly. 

How much time had passed? How long had they been standing there?

They were yanked back to reality when she heard someone call her name. “Clarke! You made it!” It was followed by laughter. “And I see you’ve met my brother.”

The lust induced haze that hung over her just seconds ago popped and her eyes shot open to see not Finn standing in front of her, hands planted on her hips, but  _Bellamy._  The elusive brother she’d admired from afar in filtered Instagram photos and colorful stories told by the younger Blake.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered.

Bellamy cocked an eyebrow. “Not who you were expecting?”

Clarke’s mouth dropped open. “No-- I thought--”

She was cut off with a husky laugh and Bellamy dragged his fingers through his hair. Her skin still burned where his hands were moments before. “Don’t worry about it, Princess,” he shrugged with a wink and Clarke felt heat prickle in her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Clarke!” Octavia tittered, obviously inebriated. “Clarrrke,” she drawled again, flinging an arm over Clarke’s shoulder. “Happy New Year’s, Clarke. I’m so glad I met you, Clarke.”

Clarke laughed, Octavia  _really_  like to say her name. 

“Bellamy, I told you Clarke’s a  _doctor,_  right? Dr. Clarke.” Octavia poked her in the chest, and Bellamy grinned, his eyes crinkling.  _Damn it._ “Oh my god, Clarke, you’ve never met Bell have you? Bellamy is too busy being a nerd to hang out with us, but  _I_ convinced him to come out just this once. Didn’t I, Bell?”

“Yeah, Octavia.” He eyed Lincoln approaching them. 

Lincoln managed to pull Octavia away to the kitchen to get some water in her system, leaving Clarke standing there awkwardly with the boy she’d just mistakenly kissed. Well, definitely not a  _boy._  Bellamy was a full grown man... with... you know, muscles and fucking  _freckles_ dusted across the bridge of his nose. 

Clarke had chalked up his attractiveness to Octavia’s photography skills and the Instagram filters, but now that she was standing in front of him... his broad shoulders and his dark curls that were a little overgrown and wild... well.  _Fuck, he was attractive._

Laughing nervously, she held out her hand. “I guess I should introduce myself properly then. I’m Clarke.”

Bellamy smiled, and it made her knees go a little weak. Taking her hand, he shook firmly and replied. “Bellamy Blake.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Finn by the table of snacks and suddenly she could not care less what he did with the rest of his night. Looking back at Bellamy, Clarke worried her lip slightly. “You wanna get out of here?”

His eyes seemed to twinkle, and he nodded enthusiastically. Clarke downed the rest of her champagne and dropped the glass on a table on their way out, Bellamy’s hand at the small of her back. 

Clarke woke up on New Year’s day, light filtering through the blinds and bouncing around the room. Immediately she felt the warmth from Bellamy radiating from behind her and she wiggled her hips back into the curve of his body, the arm thrown over her hip tightening and holding her close. His breath was hot on her neck and groaned sleepily. “What time is it?”

Clarke placed her hand over his splayed along her stomach, lacing her fingers into the spaces between his. “I don’t care, go back to sleep.”

A breathy laugh and a small nip at her earlobe sent a shiver right through her and her toes curled. Clarke decided she never wanted to get out of this bed, and they stayed there for the rest of the day... and most of the next night, too.

The following year, there were no crazy surprise kisses-- only small jewelry boxes and surprised tears at the sight of Bellamy Blake down on one knee.


	35. the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off prompt: 'how about Clarke is on her period so no sex, and it drives Bellamy crazy and Clarke is just laughing at him. After a week of no sex. Bellamy takes her up on what she’d missed. Bellamy teases her too after her period is finished and now he won't fuck her he waits another week and after that HOT DAMN SEX YES'
> 
> well, my version of it at least.

She knows  _exactly_  was she’s doing, strutting around the apartment in nothing but her tiny sleep shorts and a tank top– no bra.

_“Well, Bell, my breasts are sore. You try shedding the inner lining of your uterus for five to seven days, every month for forty plus years of your life. When you do that, see what that does to the rest of your body, and then you can tell me what I can and cannot wear and do in the comfort of my own home. Fuck you very much.”_

Clarke  _normally_  had a mouth of her, and it would be fine– normally, if it didn’t make him so fucking turned on. But, he knows better than to get between a girl and her Netflix pretty much  _any_  time of the month. So, Bellamy stands at the kitchen island, peering into the living room where Clarke is sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of watermelon and a box of Junior Mints. 

And, honestly, it didn’t that she makes the most obscene moaning noises as she eats her fucking candy and Bellamy breathes out sharply when his cock grows uncomfortably hard at the sight of it all.

Hearing him groan, Clarke’s head pops up over the back of the coach and she smirks and tips her head at his growing erection. “Yeah, sorry babe, can’t help you there.” 

Bellamy huffs and storms down the hall to his office, Clarke’s laughter echoing through the apartment.

As the week drags on, Clarke continues her little look-but- don’t-touch game and Bellamy is about to lose his mind. 

He comes in after his morning run and the bathroom door is halfway open, headphones still in his ears, he strips off his shirt and kicks off his sneakers before pushing the door open.

 _“Fuck,”_  he mutters.

Clarke is lounging in the tub, lights dimmed and candles on the counter. Bubbles swirl around her, not completely covering her movements. With eyes, closed and head tipped back against the edge of the tub, Clarke’s fingers circle her clit lazily. Her free hand drags across the bare skin of her breast and Bellamy watches slack-jawed as the soap trickles down into the valley of her breasts. 

Bellamy must of made a noise, because Clarke’s eyes shoot open and meet his, darkened with lust. She doesn’t say anything, just bites her lip playfully and opens her knees further, shifting so the bubbles fall away from her skin and allow Bellamy a clear view beneath the water as she works her fingers through her cunt. 

Muttering obscenities under his breath, Bellamy flips her off and backs out of the bathroom in frustration. He hears her laugh through the now closed bathroom door and he curses.

Two can play that game. 

Clarke comes home from class two days later and Bellamy is sitting on the couch watching a documentary on the History Channel. She reaches over the back of the couch and runs her hands down his chest, nipping at his ear. 

Bellamy pulls his head away, craning to see what was happening on the television. Confused, Clarke jerks up and her eyes flit over to the program. He’s watching that show about the Roman Empire she knows he has seen at least four times. But, he clears his throat and pays her no mind as Clarke drags herself down the hallway, throwing a final glare over her shoulder. 

It intensifies when Bellamy returns from a run and Clarke’s standing in the kitchen eating a bagel with honey. Bellamy’s smug grin causes heat to prickle in her cheeks as he stalks towards her. Leaning close, he presses his lips lightly to the corner of her mouth, tongue darting out to lick a stray dab of honey. 

“Thanks, honey,” he whispers closely before pulling back, peeling off his shirt and swaggering off to the bathroom. Clarke is left flustered and rubs her thighs together as she watches Bellamy’s ass strut from the kitchen. 

 _“God-fucking-dammit, son of a bitch,”_  she mutters.

Clarke hears him getting himself off through the the bathroom door and she curses. She needs to brush her teeth before class, so she pushes in and Bellamy pulls back the curtain. His cock is still half-hard as the steam fills the tiny space and Clarke clenches her jaw, brushing her teeth with vigor– eyes focused on her own reflection in the mirror and not the stark naked beefcake of a man standing beside her dripping wet. 

Bellamy reaches over her and grabs his toothbrush.

Clarke lets out a self-deprecating snort. “Can you–  _god,_  fucking put some clothes on.”

Bellamy cocks an eyebrow. “Nah, I’m good.”

Spitting out her toothpaste, Clarke tosses her toothbrush beside the sink and practically runs out of the bathroom.

It all comes to a head the next evening when they are getting ready for dinner with Abby and Marcus. Clarke is standing in the bedroom wearing only her bra and panties– the little black lacy ones that drive Bellamy fucking nuts– and Bellamy comes into the room, fingers halting on the cuffs of his shirt at the sight of her. 

Clarke’s hair is pulled back in a slightly messy chignon, settled at the back of her neck and she’s digging through her earrings trying to find the little diamond studs Marcus gave her for Christmas last year. “Babe, have you seen–” 

Turning around, Clarke freezes and her eyes rake over Bellamy in his fitted black slacks and stupid ‘Cerberus’ tie that she’d given him as a gag-gift two birthday’s ago.

Her chest heaves, and her core is flooded with warmth. Bellamy licks his lips, trying not to notice how painfully tight his pants suddenly were. Facing off in their bedroom, they contemplate this game they’ve been playing and if it’s even worth it.

_“Fuck it.”_

Bellamy moves first, one hand grabbing her waist the other on the back of her head as he walks her backwards. Clarke hits the wall, her head drops back as Bellamy latches his mouth to her neck, sucking and licking down the column of her throat, nibbling at her pulse point. 

Clarke’s hands dive for his belt, making quick work of his zipper and shoving his pants down his hips. Bellamy rocks his erection against her throbbing center, and Clarke whines. He pushes her panties aside and thrusts upwards hungrily. He fucks her against the wall as his name falls from her lips.

_bellamybellamyfuckbellamyohmyfuckinggod_

She comes, walls clenching around his cock when he presses a thumb to her clit. Clarke screams out the pent up frustration and desire that had been festering for the past two weeks. Bellamy bites into the junction between her shoulder and her neck, muffling his desperate groans as he chases his own release.

Clarke whispers obscenities into his ear, urging him on as he pounds her into the wall. His whole body shakes when he comes, spilling his seed into her and Clarke’s eyes roll back into her head as they come to rest against each other. The length of Bellamy’s body is pressed against hers as he braces himself against the wall, trying to collect himself. 

“Shit,” Clarke breathes.

Bellamy’s laugh is husky and strained in her ear, and she feels it in her toes. 

“Absence makes the fuck grow stronger?” She offers, her eyes twinkling playfully as Bellamy straightens up. 

“Maybe, but I’m not fucking playing that game with you again.” He cups her face with both hands and kisses her soundly. “Now,” he says, pulling away, “we have to shower again, because there is  _no_  way I’m having dinner with Marcus and your mom smelling like sex.” 

Clarke throws her head back in laughter. “Yeah, okay.”

Bellamy just shakes his head at her, loosening his tie when Clarke smacks him on the ass as he’s walking away. “Keep the tie, though!” She yells, and Bellamy just laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry.


	36. final combination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically, essentially the step up!au that no one was really asking for; (this is old, i'm just re-uploading it here)

Clarke Griffin is an aspiring dancer, whose only goal is to tour with the American Ballet. Her family is wealthy, but her mother doesn't believe that dancing is an appropriate career path and refused to pay for the Walden Dance Conservatory after she graduated from high school. So she moves out of her parents home, finds a dirt cheap apartment on the edge of town. She works two jobs to help pay for school on top of her classes and the three hour practices she takes in the studios at the end of the day.

Bellamy Blake began caring for his sister when he was seventeen, she was spunky and unruly-- but somehow she managed to grow up into a mature, albeit free-spirited woman, despite his haphazard parenting. She secures a position at a prestigious dance academy that he can't afford-- so he takes on a custodial position which allows Octavia to attend at a discounted price and he works the late shift to try and earn a little extra cash.   
  
The studios are only available late, after classes are long over and the building is practically deserted. Every night Clarke blares her music and works her way through her routine, trying to perfect her movements and nail the tricky sections.  
  
Every night, Bellamy sticks his ear buds in before he works his way down the abandoned studio hallway so he doesn't have to hear the sloppy squishing of the mop against the laminate floors. On one particular night, he notices a light seeping through the tinted windows of studio a and he pulls out an ear bud-- his own rock music now being drowned out by a bluesy-pop song he knows he's heard on the radio driving with Octavia.   
  
She's spinning and pulling out into an elaborate combination and pose that Bellamy cannot even imagine trying to contort his body into-- but every time, she stumbles. He watches her perform the same section a dozen times-- frustration growing on her face with every misstep. He chuckles to himself,  _it's none of my business_.   
  
She's there every night that week. The same song. The same section. He finds himself hanging in the shadows of the hallway watching for much longer than he should. It doesn't hurt that each night she's wearing some variation of tights and a dance top-- form fitting and snug against her curves.

 _He thinks she's beautiful._  
  
He isn't paying attention when the toolbox, teetering on the edge of the ladder step, clatters to the floor-- the sound of wrenches clanging echoes in the studio and Clarke stops abruptly.   
  
"What the hell?"  
  
Bellamy is frozen, his face contorts into an embarrassed and pained expression as the girl, wide-eyed and furious, crosses her arms against her chest as she sizes up the olive-skinned man in front of her.  
  
"Well?" She practically stomps her foot at him.  
  
His mouth just drops open, unable to form a sentence, "Uh-- I, just--"  
  
She raises an eyebrow at him, and she definitely  _doesn't_ notice his toned arms as he runs his fingers through his messy dark curls in embarrassment.   
  
"Sorry," he finally manages to sputter out. "I was just mopping the hallway..."  
  
Clarke's features soften and the corners of her mouth turn upwards, "Were you watching me?"  
  
Bellamy shifts his weight, "Yeah."  
  
"What did you think?" she asks, surprisingly.  
  
"It's pretty good, but uh, you keep overextending on the final combination."  
  
"What?"  
  
Bellamy shrugs, "Sorry, I'll get out of your hair."  
  
He moves to leave, "Wait!" she calls.  
  
He slowly turns back to the petite blonde whose curls were loose and wild, small sections of flyaway hairs sticking to her sweaty forehead. He thinks she's beautiful.  
  
"How can you tell?" she asks, expression worried and he can tell she's breathing hard.  
  
"You're not timing your transition properly-- tucking your leg just two beats too slow..." he notices her confused expression, "My sister is a dancer here, I practically raised her with the help of dance moms."  
  
She nods slowly, as if the gears in her brain are working over time. She holds up a finger and trots over to the music system, restarting her songs.   
  
She begins the combination as Bellamy stands there, mop still in hand, as she furrows her brow in concentration: landing the transition. Her face immediately brightens, and she lets out a small squeal of victory.   
  
 _He thinks she's beautiful._  
  
"Thank you..."  
  
"Bellamy." he finishes.  
  
She smiles, "Clarke."   
  
Bellamy looks at his watch, "I gotta finish up, I'm supposed to clock out in twenty minutes.   
  
She notices the way his eyes crinkle, and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.   
  
He's moving again and she practically shouts, "Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?"  
  
He's grinning, "Yeah, sure."  
  
A half an hour later, they are sitting in the all-night diner talking; turns out his sister is in the freshman point class that she teaches. Clarke laughs too hard at Bellamy's stupid jokes, and Bellamy finds it endearing when she snorts, which only makes her laugh harder. Bellamy surprises her with his stockpile of facts about Ancient Roman history, and is perfect enamored when he veers off on a bunny trail about why Augustus was so important.  
  
Over the next few weeks they spend every free moment they have together. On the nights he doesn't work, they dance together--because Bellamy is surprisingly a strong dancer and Clarke needed some practice with aerial lifts. And on Sundays, Bellamy forces her to take a day out of the studio. No practice, no workouts. Just the two of them, breakfast in bed and Netflix.  
  
Bellamy finally manages to convince her to take a whole weekend off and they go to the beach, but that doesn't stop her from dancing. She takes off her shoes and twirls, the salty air whipping her wavy blonde tresses around as Bellamy trails behind.   
  
Bellamy loves the way Clarke curls up into a ball by his side when they fall sleep-- but wakes up to her limbs tangled up in his in all sorts of strange positions. He loves the way she lights up when she finds a song she loves and she waltzes around  _their_  living room, choreographing as she goes.   
  
He sits front row at the winter showcase, clapping extra hard when his little sister makes her stage debut, she's going to do big things. And he's beaming with pride when Clarke performs her senior piece, receiving a standing ovation as she closed out the show.  
  
She's offered a position in a prestigious company. It's not American Ballet, but Clarke is happy. It actually allows her to continue to do what she loves closer to the people she loves. A few years later, she suffers an injury that ends her touring career. Bellamy is there through all of it, holding her hand through surgery and rehab. They go and see Octavia perform in her first show with the American Ballet company. Bellamy cries. Clarke thinks he's beautiful.   
  
Clarke opens her own studio, teaching young girls to love their bodies and to love the art. She's strong. He doesn't know how she handles a dozen high-energy munchkins each class, but she does it.   
  
She always comes home, gliding through the door as she removes her jacket and her shoes. Her hair still pulled back in a tight bun.  _He thinks she's beautiful._

She dances her way into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [xo](http://nathenmiller.tumblr.com/post/103150439019/bellarke-kind-of-essentially-a-step-up-au-maybe)


	37. beard burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically bearded bellamy going down on clarke, because why not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for lore: 'give me all the scruffy!bellamy going down on clarke fics tbh'

Clarke pulled herself up from the couch and padded through the house in just Bellamy’s sweatshirt and thick woolen socks at the sound of the doorbell. Afraid that it might stop smelling like him, she’d worn it nearly three months without washing it and planned on wearing it the three final weeks until Bellamy was due home. 

Gliding carefully over the tile floor, she held onto her steaming mug firmly with both hands. “Hang on!” She called, flipping on the lights in the foyer before setting her tea on the side table and unlocking the door.

“Hey, stranger.”

He was leaning against the brick entrance way with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a duffel at his feet. Clarke felt the breath flee from her lungs. Two beats passed as she drank him in, his hair longer, his  _beard?_  

“Oh my god, Bellamy!” She finally managed, flinging herself into his arms. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smelled so distinctly  _Bellamy_  that she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him, desperately to touch every bit of her body to his.

It was nearly five minutes before Clarke untangled herself from Bellamy and they moved inside instead of standing on the snow-covered porch. As soon as the door closed behind them, Clarke spun to face him and wrapped her arms around his middle as he finished taking his coat off. “I thought you had another three weeks.”

“I just missed you too much,” he said playfully.

Clarke stuck her tongue out at him.

“No, actually, I got offered a full-time position with the university and they wanted me to start immediately prepping for the new semester. Surprising you was just icing on the cake.”

Chin resting on his chest, she beamed up at him. Bellamy leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Oh my god, that tickles.” Clarke pulled away laughing, scrunching up her nose as she reached up to itch the spot he’d brushed against.

Bellamy smirked, “What? This?” 

Clarke’s eyes widened as Bellamy looped his arms around her and pulled her close, nuzzling his beard against her skin as she squirmed in protest. She managed to maneuver her hands between them and push back on his chest. 

They stood there catching their breath from the laughter and Bellamy leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “I bet my beard would feel better between your legs.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, prickling with excitement and she felt a sudden warmth pool low in her belly. “Beard? If you want to call it that.” (It was  _barely_  a beard.) But, she nibbled on her bottom lip as Bellamy’s hand trailed over her hips and toys with the frayed edges of the sweatshirt. 

“You look really good in my hoodie, by the way, Princess,” Bellamy breathed against her cheek as he began to pepper kisses down her jaw. “But, I think it would look better on the floor right about now.”

Clarke nodded. “You know, I think you’re right.”

Bellamy growled and swiftly grabbed the bottom of the sweatshirt and ripped it over her head, leaving her bare-breasted in little grey boy short underwear and her wool socks as he walked them backwards towards the wall.

Dipping his head, Bellamy captured her mouth fully and kissing her with three months of pent up frustration. One hand cupped the back of her head as the other skimmed her side, her skin tingling against the familiar pressure of his calloused fingertips as he reached her breast. She arched at his touch as he cupped the plump flesh, feeling the weight of it in his palm, his thumb brushing against her hardened nipple. 

“This is a good look for you,” Bellamy rasped as he peppered kisses down the column of her throat. Clarke snorted and grabbed his face, dragging his mouth back to hers. 

He withdrew his hand from her breast, Clarke whimpering at the loss and grabbed beneath her thighs, hauling her up. She wrapped her legs around him and Bellamy pulled them away from the wall and began walking them towards the bedroom. 

Clarke fell to the bed as Bellamy crawled up her body and found her mouth, grinding his hips into hers and Clarke thrust hers to meet his. Bellamy rose up and looked at the woman spread out beneath her, lips red and rough, eyes hooded and hungry. 

He didn’t move to remove his own clothing, but instead, found her hands and laced their fingers together and slowly raised them over her head. Returning to her lips, his kisses were soft and languid, and Clarke felt her lips chafing against the coarse hairs around his mouth. Bellamy untangled their hands but instructed her to keep her arms in place as he began to drop a path of soft kisses down her left arm and across her collarbone. 

Bellamy’s tongue was hot and wet, licking a stripe up the valley of her breasts before taking a nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it’s dusty peak. Clarke’s chest rose as she began to pant against his ministrations. He nipped at her naval as he continued farther downward still. Cupping her over her damp undergarment, his thumb pressed her clit and Clarke’s hips bucked in response. 

Clarke wiggled beneath him, trying to get her socks off.

Bellamy stilled her, gripping just above her knee. “Leave ‘em, it’s hot.” Clarke propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him funny, but he just shrugged. “Lay down,” he instructed her as he dragged her panties down her legs and tossed them aside.

Obeying, she settled down onto the mattress as he slotted himself between her legs more firmly. He leaned onto the bed on his stomach and tapped the outside of her leg, encouraging her to place them over his shoulders. Bellamy shifted and used his large palms to support her ass as he lifted her already dripping cunt to his mouth.

Her toes found the bed on either side behind his shoulders, barely, and she used her shoulders as an anchor, gripping the sheets as Bellamy began to run his cheek against her inner thigh. 

“ _Fuck,_ Clarke. You’re so wet.”

“Yeah, well, that’s happened when you’re a fucking tease,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Nipping at the tender flesh of her thigh, Bellamy scoffed. She whined until Bellamy’s tongue slipped between her folds, lapping at the wetness gathering between her legs. He kept licking at a slow, senseless pace that frustrated Clarke. She thrust her hips trying to make him go faster, but instead he dug his nails into her ass and swirled his tongue around her clit.

She cried out exasperatedly as he continued to work his tongue around her clit, stopping every so often to ease her back from the edge. Her panting grew more vocal and her legs jerked tighter around his head, and she felt his beard rubbing against her thigh in an adjoining sensation to Bellamy sucking on her clit. 

“ _Bellamy, oh my god-- fUCK. I’m s-so close,”_ she stammered out.

Clarke felt him smile against her cunt, just so, as his tongue began to work quicker and her legs ached and trembled. Bellamy sent her over the edge and her whole body arched and shook as he eased her back onto the mattress.

Pressing a final kiss to the swollen bud, she whine and twisted. “Holy fuck, Bell.”

Bellamy stood up, shucked his shirt and pants and flopped down onto the bed beside her. Clarke was still breathing heavily and she turned her head to look at him. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

He laughed and tucked his hands behind his head. “Just wanted to show you how much I missed you.”

“Yeah,  _fuck,_ I missed you too.” Clarke rolled over and nestled into his side. “I would say I’d help return the favor but I can barely feel my legs, to be honest.” Her head dropped to his shoulder.

Wrapping an arm around her and pulling her up, he kissed her fully and Clarke sighed against his lips. Bellamy pulled back after a moment. “I can wait. That plane ride wore me out, too.”

“But you weren’t too worn out to go down on me?” Clarke poked him in the side, running a socked-foot up his leg.

Bellamy kicked at her. “I’m never to worn out to go down on you, babe. It’s like, my second favorite thing to do.”

“Second favorite?”

“I’m sorry, have you  _read_  the Iliad?”

“Yeah, and it’s fucking boring.”

Bellamy pinched her and Clarke squirmed, kicking at him. “Fuck you.”

“You just took care of that,” Clarke sassed, rolling off the bed and sauntering over to her dresser. She procured an new pair of underwear and a t-shirt (also Bellamy’s) and pulled them on before climbing back into bed. This time, she dug her way under the covers, Bellamy following suit, and they curled up around each other.

“This beard-burn is fucking brutal, Bell. I’m going to need so much lotion tomorrow.” 

“I fucking missed you.” He breathed against the nape of her neck.

“I fucking missed you, too. Asshole.”


	38. your ass is grass, pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario Kart. Wine. Sexual Tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously inspired by Supercon.

“I need you to teach me how to play this game.”

She shoved past him before Bellamy could register Clarke Griffin barreling through his doorway at 11 o’clock at night.

“Excuse me?”

Clarke turned around abruptly, causing Bellamy to nearly crash into her. Holding up a copy of Mario Kart 8 to his face, she frowned. “I told this 8-year-old that I babysit for that I would kick his ass at this game the next time I saw him.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow at her. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Obviously you have to teach me how to play. I thought I said that already, keep up Blake.” She stalked over to the couch and dropped her bag on the cushion, procuring a bottle of wine from its depths. “I brought provisions. I am willing to work as long as it takes.”

He stared at her. “To beat an 8-year-old.”

“That smug son of a bitch thinks he’s better than me,” she said wildly.

“Clarke. He’s eight.”

Clarke scoffed. “So? If he can talk smack, so can I.”

“Oh... kay.” Bellamy nodded slowly.

She stared at him impatiently. “So, are you in or what?”

Bellamy headed for the couch, flopping down as Clarke relaxed. “Why didn't you ask Monty or Jasper, or literally  _anyone_  else?”

It wasn’t that Clarke and Bellamy weren’t friends. They were introduced by Raven, who incidentally they’d both slept with, and there  _was_  chemistry there-- the explosive kind. Any time the group hung out, it usually ended with Bellamy and Clarke bickering about something ridiculous like flavors of ice cream or the necessity of pockets on women’s pants. But, if someone tried to tell Clarke or Bellamy that they just needed to fuck already, they’d probably get decked, so they steered clear.

“Monty and Miller went away this weekend, and Jasper always wants me to taste-test his weird ‘pot-pots’. Honestly, how many different dishes can you infuse marijuana into without it being weird?” She called back from the kitchenette. 

Bellamy shrugged. “Okay, but you actually have to listen to me to learn.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke sauntered back into the living room with cups. “Bellamy, you are a grown ass man. Why do you have plastic Muppet's cups?”

“They’re collectibles, Clarke.” He said matter-of-fact, taking the wine cup from her. Clarke watched him with disbelief. “Now, sit down on this couch so I can kick your ass at Mario Kart.”

“Hey, I thought you were going to teach  _me_  how to kick ass at Mario Kart.”

Bellamy smirked. “What fun is that if I don’t kick your ass a few times first?”

“Can we stop talking about my ass?”

“Never.”

* * *

“Ugh, fuck that Mario dude!” Clarke barked at the TV, pressing wildly at the buttons on her controller.

“Clarke, you  _are_  that Mario dude.”

Clarke looked at him blankly. “No, I’m over there!” She pointed to the left side of the screen. 

Bellamy shook his head sadly, trying not to laugh. 

“B-but, oh my god. I’ve been looking at the wrong side of the screen this  _entire time?!”_  

Bellamy doubled over in laughter, nearly knocking over the now empty bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table. Clarke tossed her controller at Bellamy, now rolling around on the couch as he continued the race. “It’s not funny, asshole!” She crawled across the couch and tried to wrestle the controller from his hand. 

Squirming, he raised his hands over his head, eyes trained on the television. “Hey, cut it out! I’m on Rainbow Road!”

“Fuck Rainbow Road!” She poked him, and he jerked wildly trying to see around her. 

“Fuck you,” Bellamy said as Clarke climbed into his lap and pinned his shoulders back. Both breathing heavily, Bellamy hit pause and held his arms out in surrender. 

Clarke’s eyes trailed over his face, fingers absentmindedly gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt. “Yeah, maybe,” she breathed. Bellamy’s lips twitched and his eyes met hers dark and confused. She leaned in slowly, fingers loosening their hold and sliding up his neck.

“Clarke,” he croaked. She started dropping soft, tentative kisses down his jaw, heart pounding erratically over the sound of the Mario Kart start screen. Bellamy rid himself of the controller and grabbed her hips firmly. She reached the corner of his mouth and he turned his face capturing her lips fully. Clarke let out a surprised whimper as his hands trailed up her sides and she rocked down against his lap.

Groaning against her lips, a hand slid over her chest and cupped the back of her neck, pulling her flush against him. The other hand curled around her backside and dug into the flesh of her ass, urging her to continue rolling her hips. 

The kissing continued heatedly and Bellamy dropped his hand to her breast, palming it over her shirt and Clarke pulled back, panting.

Bellamy jerked his hand away quickly. “Oh my god, I’m sorr-”

She held up her hand to stop him and Bellamy’s mouth snapped shut. Clarke swung her leg off, finding a place beside him on the couch. A quiet moment passed and Bellamy was freaking out. 

Slowly, Clarke rose to her feet and turned towards Bellamy. “Do you have a condom?”

Nearly choking, he sputtered, “Y-yeah, in my room.”

Clarke held out her hand. Bellamy’s eyes flitted from her hand to her face a few times. She raised an eyebrow. “You in or what? Keep up Blake.” 

The fire in her eyes made Bellamy’s heart pound in his ears as he grabbed her hand. They grappled with clothing, stumbling down the hallway towards the bedroom. Bellamy stopped just before the door, both of them shirtless and his face became serious. “You want this, right?”

Clarke grabbed his hand and pulled it to her mouth, kissing his palm. She smiled softly then dropped his hand. “Your ass is grass, Blake.” She ducked under his arm and slapped his ass, swaying her hips with each step towards the bed. 

Bellamy muttered something incoherent under his breath before following her, door slamming behind him as he ran to tackle her into the bed laughing. “You are so on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be convinced to write a smutty part two, but I am too distracted to do that at the moment.


	39. your ass is grass, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Addition to the previous chapter.

Bellamy roused reluctantly the next morning. He rolled over to check the time on the clock. It flashed:  _10:46._ Rubbing his hand over his face, memories of last night flooded his brain.

_“Clarke.”_

Rolling over, he saw the other side of the bed was empty. His heart fell a little. Of course she left, it was just a  _thing_ , one time... fun thing. They had been dancing around it forever, it was inevitable and now it was over. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself from bed and dragged himself to the shower. The steady stream of warm water helping the soreness he felt from fucking  _Clarke Griffin_  the previous night. Once he was cleaned up and dressed, he made his way to the kitchen, hoping that maybe she’d left a note.

The counter was empty and Bellamy tried not to be too disappointed. He grabbed a Coke and a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge. There was a jangling of keys at the door, and Bellamy looked around the empty apartment, confused as to who it could be. Miller was away with Monty for the weekend, and nobody else that  _he_ knew had a key. 

“Hey.” Clarke appeared in door, carrying two plastic bags. “I brought food.”

Bellamy stared at her as she kicked the door shut behind her and transferred the bags to the counter.  _Because, of course she’d made herself copy of their key._

“I didn’t know what you normally got, so I got a little of everything... you like Chinese right? Leftover Chinese food is like, my favorite thing in the world. But don’t touch my egg rolls.” She paused. Bellamy was still staring at her from the other side of the kitchenette. “What?”

Bellamy shook his head to refocus. “Hey, hi.” 

“Hi...” She raised an eyebrow. “Why are you being weird?”

“Uh.” Bellamy blushed. “You weren't here this morning, I thought-- I don’t know what I thought, I guess.”

Clarke set down the container of rice in her hand. “I sent you a text-- I had to go watch Myles this morning while his mom was at work.”

Bellamy realized he had no idea where his phone was. “I-I must have left my phone on the couch last night, before... you know, we had sex.”

“We had sex?” Clarke teased. 

He slouched against the counter and Clarke sighed. Circling around the counter, she stepped between his legs and slid her arms around his waist. “Let’s start from the top.” She leaned up on her tip-toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was soft and swift and she pulled away smiling. “Hi.”

Bellamy felt some of the nervous tension melt from his shoulders. “Hi.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“I just got up like, forty-five minutes ago.”

Clarke made a face. “What a bum. You sleep like a fucking rock, by the way.”

“Well,  _somebody_  kept me up until three in the morning playing Mario Kart.” Bellamy squeezed his arms around her shoulders playfully.

“Ha! I totally kicked Myles’ ass, too! So, thank you for that.”

“That’s my girl.” Bellamy beamed. “Kickin’ eight-year-old ass and taking names.” 

Clarke laughed.

This was weird. They were standing in the middle of Bellamy’s kitchen in a super-casual, uber-coupley embrace like it was no big deal. It was as if the shift in their relationship was the most natural thing in the world. 

“This is okay, right? This is good?” Bellamy said after a minute.

Clarke got a serious look on her face. ”Do you even have to ask?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I feel like we’ve been dancing around this forever.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time as his hands cupped her face gingerly. When they broke from the kiss, Clarke looked at him. “Bellamy, you’re like, my best friend-- believe it or not. How could this  _not_  be okay?”

 _She wanted him._ He thought he could kiss her again. “So, now what?”

Clarke stepped away. “First: we eat this delicious Chinese food I made for you.” 

“It says Royal Garden on the container.” 

“Shut it, you.” She waved him off. “Second: we play Mario Kart in our underwear, so I can kick your ass and then you can congratulate me by going down on me.”

Bellamy nearly spit out his drink and Clarke smirked at him. 

* * *

 

It turns out Clarke still sucks at Mario Kart, but he goes down on her anyways. 

The sex last night had been good, but it was quick and lust-filled. Bellamy wanted to take his time and make her come around his fingers, his tongue, his cock.  

He takes his time laving his tongue over her breasts, and she was panting his name by the time he entered her. Hiking her leg over his shoulder, Bellamy angled his hips, pumping his cock into her as her fingers played with her clit. 

Knowing she was close, he stilled, her walls fluttering around him. Bellamy wrapped his arms around Clarke and pulled her up so he was sitting in his lap, allowing her to ride him. Her hips circled with each roll of her body, and Bellamy took her mouth her sloppily, trailing wet kisses along her cheek and nipping at her earlobe. She came with a thumb to her clit and Bellamy’s hand on her ass, urging her on as he chased his own orgasm.

After they napped, Bellamy fingered her while they watched Battlestar Galactica (because they’d both seen that season three times). 

Clarke slept over that night, claiming she was too lazy to get out of his bed and drive back to her apartment. “And besides, you live closer to the clinic anyways. Super convenient for work.”

* * *

 

She moved in three months later after Miller moved in with Monty, and they turned the spare bedroom into a gaming center. Clarke still sucked at Mario Kart, but he had no problem making her feel better after she lost.


	40. principessa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on prompt: _'you were sat in my reserved train seat and refused to move so i sat on your lap and now we’re both too annoyed and awkwardly turned on to move.'_

Clarke’s steps are heavy as just pulls herself into the train. Venice was awesome, but honestly, all she wants to do is collapse into her seat and sleep all the way to Rome. 

She had reserved a window seat, anticipating her need for something to lean against, but as she approaches Seat 67, she notices a mop of brown curls peaking up over the back. 

“No,” she whispers to herself. “ _Scusi,”_ she says through gritted teeth upon arrival. Clarke quickly realizes the man is wearing headphones and she reaches out to tap him on the shoulder. “Scusi.” He turns around, and  _damn_  he’s attractive. She huffs and displays her ticket so he can see that he’s taken the wrong seat. “ _Il mio posto.”_ She knows her accent if fucking ridiculous, but she’s  _trying_ , at least.

The freckle-faced man stares at her blankly, only serving to agitate Clarke further. “Lei parla inglese?” She hopes.

“You sound like you used google translate to learn Italian,  _principessa,”_ he says smugly, with a perfect pronunciation.

A crease forms in her brow as she shifts her large back, trying to keep the weight on her hips. “Great, now  _I_  look like the asshole.” 

The man smirks.

“You’re in my seat.” She holds out the ticked pointedly. He shrugs and begins to stick his earbuds back in his ears. “Hey!” Clarke reaches out and grabs his wrist. “I  _reserved_  the window seat, and you’re sitting in it.” 

The train starts to move slowly and Clarke’s shoulders continue to ache. She unbuckles it, and slides it into the empty seat beside Freckles. 

There’s an older Italian couple sitting in the two seats facing theirs and Clarke grew more impatient as she saw the ticket collector working her way down through the car.  _“Fine.”_

“Wha--” 

The man startles as Clarke drops down in his lap, wiggling slightly until she can lean her head against the cool glass window. Ignoring the pointed looks from the couple, Clarke lets out a deep defiant breath.

He smells good.  _Really_  good and Clarke curses to herself quietly. The train shakes steadily as it moves down the tracks and the man grips her hips as she starts to slide.

A few awkward, quiet minutes pass and the stranger makes no effort to remove Clarke from his lap. 

Finally, she clears her throat. “Can you-- can I please have my seat now?” 

The Italian couple is still watching to events unfold and Freckles just leans his head back against the seat and shrugs. “I don’t know, I’ve got a beautiful girl on my lap. I’d say my day’s going pretty well.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and she shifts, suddenly feeling  _him._

“Damn it, that’s-- c’mon, man,” Clarke groans.

“I’m  _sorry!_ But, you started it!” He tenses up beneath her.

Clarke’s cheeks flood with red and she stands up awkwardly. The ticket collector, who was one set of seats away, finally arrives at their section.

“Biglietti,” the conductor says. 

“Sorry,” Clarke stammers, reaching for her ticket. “He is in my seat.” She points to her ticket and then to the seat numbers above their head.

Freckles throws his hands up innocently and moves to stand. “ _Mi dispiace!”_

Clarke grabs her bag and drags it off the adjoining seat and plops down into her assigned seat in disbelief as the conductor hands her back her ticket.  _Asshole!_

It grows quiet after the conductor leaves and Clarke still feels the gaze of the couple in front of them. 

Letting out a sharp breath, Clarke turns to Freckles. “Thanks,” she says bitterly.

“Bellamy.” He holds out a hand.

Clarke frowns, but finally takes it. “Clarke.”

“I’m--  _sorry_ ,” he manages. “You just looked so cute, all flustered like that. I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah, you are,” Clarke mutters.

Bellamy sighs, with a slight smile. “Start over?”

Clarke studies him for a minute. “Okay, fine.”

“End destination?”

“Rome.”

Bellamy smiles. “Me too!”

Clarke offers a sarcastic smile. “Yippee!”

He snorts. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says. “But, I am  _exhausted_  and I really just wanted to sleep, if you don’t mind.” 

“Oh, no-- yeah, that’s fine. I won’t bother you.”

Clarke smiles, yawns and drops her head against the glass. She’s out in minutes.

At some point during the train ride, Clarke’s head ends up on Bellamy’s shoulder and he tries to hide his amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not in love with it, but i hope you enjoyed it!


	41. principessa, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested by realynn8. The Italian adventure continues.

Three days of walking, a hostel full of snorers and several bottles of wine later, Clarke is exhausted and wants nothing more than to leave Rome with happy memories and head to Wells’ house in Tuscany for a few days of rest and relaxation… and wine, lots of wine.

She only has a few hours on the train, so she plans on sketching some of the countryside. Pulling out her ticket, she glances down at the seat assignment again and works her way down the aisle. As she approaches her seat, something in her stomach flips.

“No,” she growls.

Clarke stops abruptly next to the seat and points accusingly. “You.”

Bellamy turns his head and his lips pull into a smug grin. “Me,” he adds with glee. He jumps up, hands in the air. “I’m not planning on taking your seat again, I just like to watch the people on the platform.”

He sidesteps into the aisle and helps Clarke with her backpack, hoisting it up onto the overhead rack. She eyes him warily as she steps into their row and sits in the window seat. 

“How–” Clarke starts, then shuts her mouth.

“Have fun in Rome?” Bellamy has just taken a bite out of an apple and is in the process of wiping his lips of the juice. Clarke can’t help but stare at them.

Her eyes snap up and her cheeks prickle with pink. “I did, you?”

He hums in agreement, slouching into the seat, his legs taking up most of the small space. Bellamy’s thigh pushed against her own, and Clarke did her best to stand her ground and not shrink back against the window.

The train pulls out of the station and chugs along merrily and Clarke attempts to sketch, pulling down the tray from the seat in front of her. She feels Bellamy’s eyes on the drawing– and her, and she tries to ignore it.

“That’s really good,” he says after an hour.

Clarke stops and lifts her head a little to look at him. “Thanks.” 

“Have you been in Italy for a while?” Bellamy’s leg is bouncing restlessly.

“About a month now, I’m taking a year off before medical school.”

Bellamy smiles. “Oh,  _Doctor_   _Principessa_  is it?”

Clarke snorts. “O-kay.” She shakes her head, trying to hide her amusement.

Silence settles between them once more, but Clarke can’t find the motivation to finish her landscape and flips to a new page. Her hand begins to move on it’s own accord and before she realizes it, Clarke has drawn a rough outline of Bellamy’s face. 

_Fuck._

“Huh?”

“Huh? What?” Clarke stammers, apparently she had vocalized her thoughts and Bellamy’s eyes are now drawn to her paper again. 

“Is that…” Bellamy’s hand pry her sketch book back down from it’s place against her chest. “Is that me?”

“What? No, I didn’t– and yet, it’s not. Honestly. Of course it isn’t– why would I…” Clarke sputters. Her eyes fall, face hot. “Yeah, it’s you.”

She can feel his smirk.

“ _Principessa_ , if you wanted me to model for you, all you had to do was  _ask.”_

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Can we just– can you forget it please?”

His hazelnut eyes shine brightly, and his damn fucking freckles make her want to connect the constellations across the bridge of his nose. Bellamy’s face is the best face.

He laughs. Clarke pouts. Bellamy laughs more.

“Where are you headed to in Tuscany?” Bellamy presses.

“Um, my best friend’s father owns a villa outside of Siena. I’m going to crash there for a few days before moving onto Germany.”

Bellamy nods. “Cool.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t really have any plans. I might hitchhike, see if I can’t get any work at a winery or a farm for a few weeks.”

Clarke nearly gapes at him. She’s all for adventure, but planned adventure. The idea of going somewhere with nowhere to stay and nothing in particular to do scared the  _shit_  out of her.

“Oh, wow,” is all she’s able to say.

They are nearly to her stop and Clarke rips the page from her notebook, scribbling something on the back and folding it up haphazardly.

When the train pulls into the station, Bellamy stands and helps Clarke with her bag again. After she’s fastened the belt, she shoves the paper at him and spins quickly, rushing down the aisle.

After she’s gone, Bellamy unfolds it gingerly. It’s the sketch she did of the landscape– not the one of his face, he notices. Flipping it over, he squints to read the chicken scratch handwriting.

_This is the address for the villa I’m staying at. If you can’t find work or need a place to stay or whatever, come find me._

_\- C_

Below the note is the address, along with an e-mail address. 

He gets off at the next stop. Finding the earliest train going back to Siena, he buys a non-refundable ticket and waits on the bench until it comes.


	42. principessa, pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third installment, follows the previous two chapters.

There’s a knock on the door and Clarke looks up from her book, pushing her glasses down the bridge of her nose. Wells and Thelonious wouldn’t be arriving until the end of the week and they wouldn’t need to knock. 

She unfolds herself from the blanket she’s wrapped around herself and pads over to the foyer. Opening the front door, Clarke’s jaw drops in shock when she finds Bellamy Blake standing on the front step. 

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, settling it on the back of his neck nervously. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Clarke breathes out. “You came.”

He smiles. “I came.”

Clarke stands in the doorway for a minute quietly.

“Can I… come in?” Bellamy finally asks.

“What? Oh, yes, please!” Clarke stammers, and gives way to the house to allow Bellamy passage. His chest brushes against hers ever so slightly as he squeezes past her. Clarke feels her heart flutter in her chest.

Closing the door quickly, she turns around to see Bellamy standing in the foyer, hands hooked in his backpack straps. Suddenly, Clarke starts freaking out. What was she doing? Inviting a practical stranger into Wells’ home while she was there  _alone._

Bellamy registers the panic on her Clarke’s face. “Shit, sorry, should I not have come? I don’t have to–”

“No!” Clarke blurts out. “No, no– I invited you, please.” Her face softens. “Stay.”

Bellamy lets out a breath. “Okay… if you’re sure.”

She smiles. “I’m sure.” Clarke gestures to his pack. “Here, let me show you your room.”

He quirked an eyebrow with a smirk. “My room?”

Rolling her eyes, she waves him off. “Well, I mean you can stay in my room and I’ll sleep in my best friends room. He won’t mind.”

“Sharing is caring,” Bellamy adds smugly.

Clarke chokes on a laugh. “C’mon.”

She leads him down the hall and up the creaky stairs. Once inside the bedroom, Bellamy circles it, taking in the decor. “Make yourself comfortable,” Clarke says.

Bellamy unbuckles his pack and lets it fall to the floor. Crouching over it, he unzips the main pocket and pulls out a shirt. Before Clarke can protest, he has pulled his current top over his head, leaving him shirtless in front of her for a brief moment before pulling the clean one on.

Clarke feels her mouth go dry.

Bellamy looks up, a smile dancing on his lips. “Got anything to drink?”

This time it’s Clarke’s turn to smirk.

She leads him to the cellar and his eyes go wide, walking up and down the long aisles of wine bottles eagerly. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

“Take your pick,” Clarke sings.

He pulls one from the cellar, examining it carefully before presenting it to Clarke. She nods affirmatively. “Good choice.”

They bring it back up to the sitting room. Clarke fetches two wine glasses and they sit talking and drink for the next few hours.

The room is dark and they’ve nearly finished the bottle, and somehow they are now sitting extremely close on the couch. Clarke finds out that Bellamy is actually really wonderful company. He has a sister that lives in Florence with her boyfriend. He did his Master’s thesis on the Fall of the Roman Empire. He is currently working on a book, and he has about a  _million_ freckles.

Clarke drops her head against the couch, watching Bellamy breathe steadily. “Why did you come?”

Bellamy turns his head, studying her. He shrugs. “I was intrigued. A beautiful artist gives me a drawing and an address and then  _leaves?_  It just begs for further investigation.” 

Her gaze flickers between his eyes and his mouth and suddenly she surges forward and presses her lips against his. Bellamy is tense at first, caught off caught by her forwardness. Only a short beat passes before Bellamy responds, his hands wrapping around her middle and pulling her into his lap. 

Sighing against his lips, Clarke rolls her hips slightly. 

Bellamy murmurs between kisses, “Still got your heart set on sleeping in your best friends bed?”

Clarke pulls back laughing. “I think I can be persuaded otherwise.”

Shifting, Bellamy scoots to the edge of the couch, allowing Clarke to wrap her legs around his waist, and stands. Clarke buries her face in his neck, smiling, as he carries back to her room.

* * *

 A very confused Wells shows up the next morning to surprise Clarke.  


Clarke stares dumbly, gathering the blankets up to cover her bare chest. “Surprise?” 


	43. principessa, pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final installment of the series.

****_Three years later._..

Clarke sits nervously with his book in her hands. Honestly, she has no idea what the hell she is doing.

When they parted ways almost three years ago, they had both agreed: no last names, no phone numbers, no contact. It was better this way. Just another adventure. But, she had been sitting on her computer messing with her drawing program when a notification popped up for a new e-mail.

 **kingblake@gmail.com**  to drclarke@gmail.com  _8:04 PM_

 **Subject:**  The Importance of Women in Roman Mythology by Bellamy Blake

 **Body:**   _The Importance of Women in Roman Mythology_ hits the shelves next week. Reserve your copy now!

And that was it. Of course, she’d immediately googled the author, because there was no way that this Bellamy could be her Bellamy, right?

Amazon only served confirm his identity. Unruly brown curls, constellation of freckles, stupid lopsided grin. 

Bellamy Blake had finished the book, and e-mailed her three years after they’d agreed not to have contact following their  _fling_. She’d forgotten that she’d even given him her e-mail address.

So, Clarke sits on a train from Venice to Rome three days later. She checks the back page again, still flustered at the special dedication.

 _if you can’t find work or_  
need a place to stay or whatever,  
come find me  
\- B

Below it was an address, albeit cryptic, where she knew he’d be when the day came. 

Three years. To the day.

She hasn’t really ever been able to shake the feeling she was left with after she walked away. 

After she finished her gap year, she completed exactly one year of medical school before dropping out. Too restless and wanting to  _create_ , Clarke had taken a part-time job at an art museum and made extra money doing commissions. She lost count of how many times the lines she put on paper turned out to be the contours of Bellamy’s face. 

Clarke slams the book shut and rubs her hand down her face. Her stop is coming up and her stomach rolls with anxiety as she stands, making her way towards the door. 

The spot is easy enough to find. Clarke had mentioned the restaurant that night and Bellamy had laughed, claiming he had been kicked out of it for ‘dressing inappropriately’.

_“Apparently they don’t take too well to Chaco’s and cargo shorts.”_

She’s probably early. It’s not even dinner time yet and Clarke finds herself pacing pacing in front of the entrance, checking her phone for the time every two minutes.

“Jesus, Princess. You’re going to wear that cobblestone down.”

Clarke whips around, letting out a sharp breath. He’s smiling, hands shoved in his pockets and Clarke’s heart hammers against her chest. “It’s a thousand years old, I’m sure it’s fine.” 

His laugh is like honey: golden and smooth, ringing in her ears.

“Hi,” he finally says, shuffling his weight.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

Clarke smiles and Bellamy knows he’s gone, he’s been since the moment she fell into his lap. “I came.”

They just stare at each other for a moment, studying the affects of time. Shaking out of her trance, Clarke surges forward, throws her arms around Bellamy’s neck and kisses him.

And kisses him.

 _And kisses him._  

Neither one of them breaks to catch their breath for several minutes, until Bellamy trails a path of kisses across her cheek and buries his face in the crook of her neck. His strong arms surround her, pulling her up off her tiptoes and Clarke feels his lips against her hair. “Why did you come?”

He lowers her back to solid ground, hands still cupping her face. She shrugs. “I was intrigued. A handsome writer gives me a book dedication and an address and  _nothing else_? It just begs for further investigation.”

“Still got your heart set on this no contact thing?”

Clarke shakes her head with a laugh. “I think I can be persuaded otherwise.”

_“Tutto bene.”_

**fin.**


	44. editorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off prompt: 'There are 3 rules you must follow to work at ARK Magazines - don't be late, don't bring caramel glazed donuts and never insult the head editor, Bellamy Blake. Too bad that Clarke's car breaks down, she loves caramel glazed donuts for breakfast and she just called Bellamy Blake an insufferable slave-driver to his face for making her work on her birthday. Or the one where Clarke can't stand him, Bellamy wants her and somehow they end up in love. ' my blog of the year award #2 for furiosaclarke, M.

Clarke has been working at ARK Magazines for two weeks when she  _finally_  meets Bellamy Blake, head editor. There is a group of them in the break room, huddled around the box of donuts that Clarke had brought in for the office. 

“What’s that?” Bellamy reaches into the cupboard and grabs a mug. He sets it on the counter as the group remains silent. All eyes turn towards Clarke, who frowns in confusion.

“They’re caramel glazed donuts.”

He faces her, shoulders squared. “Caramel glazed donuts,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Clarke says obliviously. “My best friend has a bakery--”

“Throw them away.”

Clarke blinks. “What?”

Bellamy doesn’t speak again, just turns, fills his mug with coffee and heads for the door, leaving Clarke gaping at the back of his head. She whips back around to the group. “Who the hell was that?”

Monty, who monitors their on-line presence and social media accounts, raises an eyebrow. “That’s Bellamy Blake, the boss.”

Clarke looks back over her shoulder, but Bellamy has already disappeared into his office, door shut and blinds closed. “ _Fuck.”_

Raven, staff writer, is already gathering the box and shuffling to the trash bin. Clarke wants to protest, but she keeps her mouth shut. The group starts to disperse and Clarke’s heart sinks. As much as she doesn’t  _need_  the approval of her co-workers, it would be nice to build a rapport with them. Reluctantly, she returns to her desk and pulls up the design she’s been working on for next month’s cover, sighing as she glances back at Bellamy’s door once last time. 

* * *

 

Bellamy is reviewing the July cover that Clarke submitted. The lines are sleek and the style is impeccable: far beyond what an entry level graphic designer would normally be expected to produce.

Outside his office, he can see her talking to the normally stoic Nathan Miller, throwing her head back in laughter as Nathan says something in response. This woman baffles him. His Human Resources had department hired her, a med-school drop out with background in graphic design, for a position that he definitely couldn’t pay her enough for. But, Bellamy hadn’t questioned it, because he trusted Harper and their budget was tight.

He wouldn’t admit he was fond of the girl, but he  _would_  admit that he was intrigued, but he had a reputation to protect and a magazine to run.

* * *

 

Three weeks later, she gets another dose of the insufferable Bellamy Blake when she’s ten minutes late to a staff meeting.

“Thank you for  _joining_  us, Princess. Should I start over so that you won’t have missed anything?” Bellamy retorts, unamused.

“N-no, sir,” Clarke says, out of breath. “I’m sorry, my car bro--”

Bellamy cuts her off by launching into the next meeting topic, ignoring the flush in her cheeks as she adjusts her blouse and slumps back into her seat. Clarke mutters obscenities to herself under her breath and she feels Bellamy’s eyes on her, not pausing from his lecture. Clarke knows her cheeks grow an impossibly darker shade of red and she attempts to sink out of sight into her chair. 

* * *

 

It’s a Friday, almost three months into her employment, when Clarke finds herself giddy and anxious at work. Deadline is still ten days away and tonight she plans on going out with the rest of the crew for celebratory birthday drinks. It’s not everyday you turn 25 on the 25th. Golden birthday’s call for serious partying. 

Five o’clock hits and Clarke begins to pack up her things, most of the staff already gone. 

“Griffin!” 

Whipping her head up, she sees Bellamy standing in the entrance to his office, arms crossed against his chest and Clarke deflates. Slowly, she extricates herself from her desk and meets him where he has retreated into his office. 

He’s pacing behind his desk and Clarke frowns. “Is there something wrong Bellamy?”

“You know deadline is in ten days, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

Bellamy stops and turns to her, chest rising slowly. “Can you tell me why the layout is only 30% complete, with less than two weeks until the next issue is due to print?”

“I’ve got several sections in the works and I’ve outlined everything I need to get done next week and--”

“Thirty. Percent,” he says, voice louder and angrier than before. “Miss Griffin, I think you’ve been here long enough to know that that’s not acceptable.”

Clarke huffs indignantly. She has  _never_ missed a deadline and always gives 110% effort to provide the best possible product. Now, it’s her turn to get angry. Mirroring Bellamy’s power stance, she crosses her arms against her chest and tips her chin up. 

“What’s not acceptable is the tone you’re using,  _Mister Blake_ ,”Clarke grinds out. “If you had a problem, you could have approached me at  _any_  point this week. I have  _never_  missed a deadline, nor do I intend on doing so now. You will have your layout done, above satisfactorily, on time. I assure you.” Her nose flares and she feels heat spread across her chest. 

Bellamy licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “I need you to stay and work  until you’ve made significant progress on the layout.”

Fury swells inside her. “ _Significant_  progress? What the  _fuck_  does that mean?” She has never cursed at Bellamy before, but she couldn’t change that now that it was out in the universe.

Bellamy’s expression darkens and he steps into her space. “If this layout isn’t at sixty percent completion before you leave here tonight, there are a hundred other kids out there that can do your job.”

Clarke leers at him, getting up in his face. Her eyes drift up and down him, studying him. “You’re an insufferable slave-driver,” she spits.

“You don’t want to go there, Griffin.”

Clarke shakes her head and steps back. “No, you’ll get your layout.” She spins on her heels and marches out of his office, throwing a look over her shoulder. “You can call the rest of your team and tell them they’ll have to get started without the birthday girl.”

She misses his reaction as she drops down into her seat violently, rattling the filing cabinet beside her. He is much too proud to admit the guilt that now clouds his features, and he shuts his door quickly before she turns around again.

* * *

 

Clarke refuses to speak to him when she practically throws the thumb drive at Bellamy. It’s labelled  _October Layout_  and she glares at him for a moment before striding out confidently. 

A whole two days before deadline, and some of her best work to date, Bellamy watches the back of Clarke’s head as she types furiously on her computer. His chest hurts knowing he could have handled that situation better. But how could Bellamy explain that he acted like asshole because he was trying to avoid playing favoritism due to his big fat crush on his subordinate employee.

Bellamy is fucked ten ways to Sunday.

* * *

 

A few months following the incident, Clarke is the last one left on the floor when she sees the lights in Bellamy’s office shut off and the door open. His tie is loose and his hair is disheveled. Clarke admires him for a brief moment before dropping her eyes back to her work. It’s not that she hasn’t admitted to herself that she finds him attractive, it’s just that she hates herself because of it. 

“Oh,” Bellamy says suddenly and Clarke bolts up. “Clarke, I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

Clarke offers him a thin-lipped smile and nods. “Layout,” she says, nodding to the computer screen in front of her. 

Bellamy stalks towards her, leaning over her view her progress. He is unnecessarily close, and Clarke can feel the heat radiating off of him. Bellamy studies the screen and Clarke studies him out of the corner of her eye. For the first time, Clarke can see the insane smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the slight dark circles under his bright hazelnut eyes. 

After what seems like an eternity, he pulls back. “It looks good, but I think the the font size on page two could be smaller and make the picture larger.”

Clarke clicks through a few things and then looks back at Bellamy expectantly. 

“Yeah, wait. Here...” Bellamy squats down and Clarke rolls her chair slightly to the left to give him access to the keyboard. She watches him silently as he creates a few subtle changes to the layout she is working on. 

This is probably the most civil interaction they’ve had in the six months she’s been working at ARK. 

“See what I did there?” he says softly.

Clarke leans forward and examines his work. “Mhm,” she hums in response. She turns her head and nearly startles as she finds Bellamy’s face just centimeters away from her own. “I... um--” she mumbles.

Bellamy clears his throat and rises back to his feet groaning as his knees pop. Clarke lets out a little laugh and Bellamy gapes when she says, “Old man.”

“I’m not old!” 

Clarke shoots him a look and Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, okay. Maybe,” Bellamy says. After another minute, he offers, “You want a drink?”

Surprised, Clarke nods hesitantly. 

“Cool.”

She follows him to his office and they end up on the floor with a bottle of whisky being passed between them. They sit in silence for a while, just drinking. Bellamy drops his head back against the filing cabinet and it’s startles Clarke. She watches him for a minute.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Nearly choking on her drink, Clarke stares at him. “What?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes bright. “That night, before the October issue was due. I was a dick and I-- I didn’t know it was your birthday. I’m sorry.”

Dropping her hands to her lap, she plays with the hem of her skirt. She shrugs. “You couldn’t have known.”

Bellamy rubs his hand over his face. “Yeah, but you were right.” Clarke raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you or treat you like that. Honestly, I was overcompensating to try and avoid my feelings for you and I fucked up.  _Badly.”_

Clarke inhales sharply. “Feelings?” she asks in a whisper.

“Fuck.” Bellamy exhales, laughing soberly.

Their eyes meet again and Clarke searches his for some sort of answer.

“I know,” he starts, sighing. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I am extremely impressed by you, daily, and you’re insanely beautiful and talented. I let my attraction to you affect my behavior. I am aware how completely inappropriate that is, but you deserve better than that.”

Shocked, Clarke sits there in silence, absorbing the words Bellamy has just spoken. “You have feelings for me?” is all she’s able to say, dumbly. 

Bellamy licks his lips in response, looking at her hopefully.

“O... kay,” she says. A quiet beat passes and Clarke starts to move, avoiding looking at Bellamy. “I should go, good-night Bellamy.” 

Before Bellamy could protest, Clarke was on her feet and on her way out of the office. He grabs the bottle of Jack, takes a swig and slams his head back against the filing cabinet once more.

* * *

 

A week later, Clarke is in his office.

They haven’t talked about that night, just gone about their jobs and avoided eye contact.

“I put in my two weeks with HR this morning.”

Bellamy feels his heart drop to his stomach. “What?”

“I start my new job on the 27th, at Alpha Art Quarterly as their new Director of Design.”

His initial reaction is to be angry, but he knows Clarke is far too talented and important to be working entry level for $22,000/yr. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he stutters. 

“I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work here. I’ve learned so much over the last six months. That experience is invaluable.” She clears her throat. “I’m going to... miss working here.” Clarke looks him in the eye when she says those words.

Swallowing thickly, Bellamy tries to smile. “Congratulations, Clarke. They are extremely lucky to have you. You will be hard to replace.”

She nods quickly before turning to leave. 

“Clarke!” 

She stops.

“We, uh, we’ll miss having you here, too.”

She knows those words mean more than he let on.

* * *

 

On her last day of work, Clarke is loading papers into a box as she clears off her desk. She carries the box to the shredder in the corner of the office and when she returns, there is a small plate with a caramel glazed donut on it. Trying not to smile, she turns around and sees Bellamy through the cracked blinds of his office where is working very hard to try and make himself appear busy. 

“What is it with you and these donuts anyway?”

Bellamy’s head snaps up, Clarke is standing in the doorway with the small plate in her hands.

Running his hand through his curls, he laughs nervously. “It’s, uh, a long story.”

“Care to share it with me over dinner?”

He nearly chokes. “What?”

Gliding over to his desk, she sets the plate down and Bellamy is turning his chair to face her. She slots herself between his legs, reaching out one hand to brush against his cheek. He leans into her touch. “Clarke...”

“I want you to know I’m not leaving this job because of you, but--” She feels him tense up under her touch. With two fingers under his chin, she tips his face up towards hers. “ _But_ , it does mean you’re no longer my boss.”

It took a moment for the gears to click into place.  _“Oh.”_

She smiles before leaning down to press her lips against his. It’s quick and sweet and Bellamy brings his hands to her hips and holds her in place. 

“So,” she says, forehead pressed against his. “Dinner?”

Bellamy nods eagerly and Clarke laughs. “Okay, asshole. Let’s go.”

Bellamy wants to protest, but not  _that_  badly. He just grabs her hand instead and turns off the light as they leave the room, her laughter echoing in the empty office.


	45. tips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boty prompt: ‘imagine person a of your otp trying to secretly kiss person b’s cheek while they’re asleep but b shifts and a accidentally kisses their mouth and pulls back flustered and looks down at a wide eyed b who pulls them back for a real kiss.’ + 'person a leaving thigh hickeys on person b.' + 'clarke giving bellamy tips about how to eat a girl out' = THIS IS BASICALLY CONTEXT-LESS SMUT.

Bellamy opens his eyes groggily, his limbs stiff and sore. They must have fallen asleep at some point and the television hums quietly in the dark living room. Clarke is curled up in a ball against the open arm of the couch and Bellamy smiles softly. Pulling himself up from the saggy cushions, he grabs the afghan quilt draped over the armchair and moves to lay it over Clarke’s sleeping form. 

Movie nights at Clarke’s apartments almost always ended with Clarke falling asleep first, but normally Bellamy had already gone home for the night by the time the group dispersed– being a middle-school teacher had it’s downfalls. 

But, it was the first weekend of summer vacation and Bellamy had nowhere else he needed or  _wanted_ to be.

He admires her for a moment, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Without thinking about it too much, he leans over to kiss her cheek just at the same moment she stirs. It’s too late for him to stop and his lips end up pressed to Clarke’s almost fully. Her eyes shoot open and Bellamy pulls back, nearly falling over the coffee table behind him. 

“Shit, I’m–  _fuck.”_ He tips over and promptly sits on the edge of the coffee table. Clarke sits up and throws her legs off the side of the couch, somehow ending up slotted between his knees as he hovers precariously on the edge of the small table. 

Her eyes go wide as she searches his face and a moment later her hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him desperately into a messy kiss. Everything happens so fast and Clarke is dragging him back over her on the couch and Bellamy has to reach out and plant his hands on either side of her head. 

Clarke tastes even better than he thought she would, her lips soft and pliant against his, the remnants of her cherry chapstick on the tip of his tongue. It’s all suddenly too much and she slips her hands under his shirt, dragging her nails over his abdomen. 

She starts kissing down his throat, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer. Bellamy suddenly freezes and tries to pull back, Clarke let’s out a frustrated huff and drops her head against the cushion. 

“Wait,” Bellamy breathes. “Are you sure– is this okay?”

Clarke stares up at him, messy blonde curls fanning out around her head, lips wet and red from making out. She blinks once, and swallows. “I– well, yeah, of course it is.” Bellamy tries to hide his smile. “Don’t you want this?”

Bellamy surges forward, kissing her fully. Pulling back, he drops his forehead against hers. She’s smiling, looking up at him with her impossibly blue eyes and biting her lip nervously. 

“Do you want to do this here, or my room?” Clarke asks.

Eyes wide, Bellamy struggles to swallow. “People don’t go in your room.”

Clarke squirms, nudging Bellamy’s arm so she can roll off the couch. “C’mon.” She holds out a hand for him and pulls him up, dragging him down the hallway towards her bedroom, her inner sanctum that not even Raven, her roommate, was allowed to enter.

The lamp beside her bed is on and she leaves the rest of the room dark. Bellamy looks around the room for a moment, taking in the pile of dirty scrubs in the corner and the medical books on her desk. The record player in the corner with a bubblegum pink vinyl on the turntable. 

When he returns his attention to Clarke, she has her shirt off and his mouth goes dry. She was a lifeguard at their community pool for years, so, it’s not like he hasn’t seen her boobs. But she has a lacy black bra on and Bellamy feels his cock straining against his jeans.

Clarke’s hooked her fingers into the waistband on her leggings, pulling it over her hips when she frowns at Bellamy. “You just going to stand there?”

“Oh– no– I–,” Bellamy stutters. He quickly pulls his shirt over his head, ruffling his already messy curls in the process. His hands still on his belt buckle when Clarke returns to a upright position, standing in nothing but her bra. He is unable to stop himself from kissing her this time, one hand in her hair, one curling around to the small of her back and pulling her flush against him. The noise she makes when he grinds himself against her makes his nerves ignite and he walks her backwards towards the bed.

The back of her knees hit the mattress and she sits, allowing Bellamy to cover her body with his own. His hands explore her body, pulling the cups of her bra down so he can knead the flesh of her breasts and Clarke arches slightly. His lips suck bruises into the juncture of her shoulder and her neck and she feels wetness gathering between her legs.

Clarke lifts her shoulders up to unclasp her bra, tossing it to the side. Bellamy’s pupils darken and he takes a nipple in his mouth, sucking and releasing it with a wet pop. He blows gently on it and Clarke whimpers, grinding her hips down against his still-clothed erection. He moves lower, dropping hot, wet kisses along her stomach and Clarke lets out a unexpected laugh. 

“What?”

Clarke tries to shake her head, but fails. “Raven said you were bragging about how good you are at going down on girls.”

Embarrassed, Bellamy drops his forehead against her tummy. 

“It’s okay! I’m curious now!” Clarke clarifies.

Bellamy props his chin on her bellybutton and looks at her. “Yeah, well, Raven also said you’re pretty good at it, so…”

Leaning up on her elbows, Clarke smirks. “I could give you a few pointers.”

Bellamy frowns.

“Stop worrying about your fragile male ego, Bellamy. Eating a girl out properly takes practice, and believe me, I’ve had my fair share of practice.

He waggles his eyebrows at her. “Hot.”

Clarke slaps the side of his head playfully, rolling her eyes. “Now, do you want to learn or what?”

With a mock salute, Bellamy nods sharply. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Clarke rolls her eyes again and pushes his head downward. She drops her head back against her pillow and wiggles slightly as Bellamy slots himself between her thighs, staring up at her expectantly. 

He leans forward and kisses just below her naval. 

“Good start. Ready?” Clarke asks.

“Wax on, wax off, Mr. Miyagi.” 

“Okay, so, you know where the clit is, yes?” 

Bellamy gives her an incredulous look.

“I’m just checking! That’s good, that’s good,” Clarke says. “But, we want to work our way  _up_  to that. Start at the knee, work your way back up to her cunt–”

“ _Your_ cunt.”

Clarke flushes. “ _My_  cunt. You want her to get aroused, play with her, tease her, leave her wanting.” 

“Mhm,” he hums against her leg, dropping slow, lingering kisses to each knee as her legs drop a little farther apart. Bellamy moves slowly, his tongue hot and heavy at the crease of her thigh. Clarke nearly forgets what’s she’s supposed to be doing as Bellamy bites and sucks at the tender skin. It’s tantalizing as he moves just the tip of his tongue in soft, slow shapes.

“You– um, want to make sure–”Clarke breathes out, eyes shut tight.

He blows lightly on her cunt. “That you’re wet?” 

“Mhm.” She nods, biting her lip as he dips a finger through her folds. His finger is calloused and Clarke sucks in a breath.

“Uh-huh, and make sure everything is nice and wet. You, um, don’t want to touch the clit if it’s not, ehem, well lubricated. But, you’re still working up to the good stuff, don’t um–” Bellamy is circling his finger slowly through her folds as he sucks a final dark bloom into her thigh. “Okay, good. Now get your fingers of of there, from here, um–”

Bellamy’s tongue makes contact with her cunt and Clarke has to stop talking for a minute. He makes long broad stokes up her slit and Clarke just hums.

After a moment, Clarke chimes in with, “There’s like a u-shape that’s super sensit– aaah ah, yep, mhm, right there.” Bellamy smirks, but doesn’t stop. Carefully speeding up and slowing down his tongue movements. She quits talking completely when his tongue dips into her cunt, curling upward and stroking her walls. Her hips buck upward when he finally swirls his tongue around her clit, then back through her folds. 

He starts to moan, sending vibrations through her that cause her to mimic the noises. She brings a hand to her breast, carefully plucking at the nipple and kneading the flesh as her other hand tangles in Bellamy’s hair, encouraging him forward as her nails scrape agaist his scalp.

Bellamy expertly changes direction of his strokes, Clarke wiggling against the friction. He shifts, grinding his nose against her clit while sucking slightly on the lips. 

Breathing heavily now, Clarke feels Bellamy lapping at her arousal and suddenly she feels his lips close around her clit. He runs his hands up her stomach and cup her breasts, causing her to arch up slightly as he works the sensitive bud in his mouth, sucking and teasing. 

“Don’t stop,” Clarke moans.

The pressure grows and grows and Clarke arches and twists as Bellamy fights to hold her in place, her orgasm swelling until she cries out with a raspy moan and collapses back onto the bed, Bellamy easing his way from her cunt, careful of her sensitive pearl. 

Clarke is still catching her breath when she opens her eyes, Bellamy’s chin damp and his face smug. 

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Okay, maybe you don’t actually need that many tips.”

“Ha!” Bellamy bites her pelvic bone playfully and climbs back over her to kiss her. She tastes herself on his tongue and her hands slide down his hot skin and settle on his jeans, fumbling with the belt and zipper as Bellamy drags his mouth across her cheek and nibbles at her ear.

“Hey, hey,” Clarke whines. “Get these off.”

Bellamy huffs a laugh against her ear, sending a shiver all the way through her. “Bossy.”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow at him, tightens her legs around him and throws her weight into rolling them over so shes straddling him. With a better vantage point, her hands make quick work of his pants, and she scoots back to drag his pants and boxers off and throw them on the floor. 

 _“Finally,”_  she whispers, eyes sweeping over his cock. 

“What was that?” Bellamy quirks an eyebrow, settling his hands on her hips.

Clarke shakes her head. “Nothing– I just–” she sighs. “I mean, I’ve wanted  _this–”_ she waves her hand between them. “–for a long time.”

His thumbs graze over her warm skin. “How long?”

“I think I realized it that winter break my senior year when we got snowed in? You were grading papers on the couch. That red flannel button-up.”

Bellamy smiles up at her. “That was four years ago.”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “When I finally accepted it– your mom died, and you had Octavia to take care of and then I met Lexa and then you were dating Echo when Lexa and I broke up and it just never seemed like the right time.”

”I’ve wanted this for a long time, too.”

This time, Clarke smiles. “How long?”

“Probably that night at Grounders when you got on stage and drunkenly sang Let It Go with Raven at Karaoke.”

“That was a month after we met.” 

“I know.”

Clarke ducks her head, her breasts brushing against his chest as she leans in to kiss him. Pulling away, she whispers against the corner of his mouth. “You mean we could have been doing this for the last six years?”

Bellamy shifts his hands to her ass, urging her forward. “Lots of time to make up for then.”

Nails digging into her chest, Clarke kisses him long and dirty. She pulls back, crawls over him to dig a condom out of the nightstand and makes quick work of the wrapper. She lowers herself onto him as he digs his fingers into her flesh, most definitely leaving bruises for her to wake up to.

He sighs. She’s warm and wet and it takes a moment for her to adjust. She throws her head back, hands pressed to his chest as she rocks her hips once slowly.

“Okay?” Clarke confirms.

“Yeah, definitely,” Bellamy breathes out. 

Clarke lifts herself up, dropping herself to take him in fully. As she repeats the action, Bellamy finds a rhythm, meeting her thrusts heatedly. It’s not perfect, but eventually they are both panting, their skin glistening with sweat as their climaxes grow. 

Straightening up, Clarke tucks her knees close to Bellamy’s side and drags her hands down her body. Bellamy’s eyes darken as she fondles her breasts, sliding them farther, over her tummy and into her curls. Her fingers circle her clit, rubbing slowly at first. Bellamy continues his thrusting as Clarke plays with her clit, rubbing more vigorously as the pleasure builds. 

“Come on Clarke,” Bellamy says hoarsely. 

Her moans grow louder, her raspy voice sending him closer and closer to the edge. Clarke starts fluttering around him and Bellamy urges her on, whispering darkly. “There you go, almost there Clarke.” 

Clarke cries out, tumbling over the edge and Bellamy chases her, thrusting wildly until she feels his release. She lays on top of him, panting. “Whoa.”

Bellamy laughs and runs his hand down her back as they recover. Eventually, she rolls off of him, allowing Bellamy to dispose of the condom. He lays back down beside her and she tucks herself into his side. “So, now what?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke looks up at him, her hair slightly matted with sweat. Smiling, she replies, “Round 2?”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow.

Clarke laughs. “What? We’ve got six years to make up for.”

Bellamy smirks and rolls himself on top of her, kissing her through her laughter.


	46. can't wait to meet your dog

**clarke [15:35]**

you should totally get a dog so i can pet it

**belLAMEy [15:37]**

i wish

**clarke [15:38]**

please please please pleaaaaase

**belLAMEy [15:39]**

shouldn’t you be studying?

**clarke [15:40]**

my test isn’t until monday, it’s saturday

**clarke [15:41]**

i’m watching the game just like you are, how am i supposed to concentrate on my flight attendant manual? plus it’s longer than your fucking roman history anthologies.

**clarke [15:45]**

bellamy...

**belLAMEy [15:46]**

sorry just thinking about you in your little flight attendant dress

**clarke [15:47]**

...

**belLAMEy [15:48]**

hot

**clarke [15:49]**

u r lame

**belLAMEy [15:51]**

you like me anyways

**clarke [15:55]**

so about that dog...

* * *

  
Clarke throws her phone onto the bed. The baseball game continues to play in the background as she stares at her manual in her lap. Honestly, she feels ready for her test, but it wouldn’t hurt to be ready for the the  _next_ next test. Just,  _so many tests._   


Pulling her laptop towards her from the end of the bed, Clarke settles back against the pile of pillows behind her head and pulls up her browser. Her fingers hover over the keyboard until she sighs and taps out  _cute puppies_  into the search bar and clicks on  _images._

She let’s out a pitiful whimper as she scrolls through the rows upon rows of tiny puppy pictures. 

* * *

** clarke [16:23] **

puppies bellamy think about it

**belLAMEy [16:25]**

STUDY

**clarke [16:26]**

party pooper

She proceeds to spam his Facebook wall with pictures of said puppies.

* * *

On Monday, Clarke texts Bellamy on her dinner break to tell him she aced her test. She smiles through a mouthful of Easy Mac when he replies.

**belLAMEy [20:37]**

grade

a

badass

so you can come home now?

**clarke [20:38]**

i wish two more weeks until graduation, can’t wait to meet your dog

**belLAMEy [20:40]**

.....

**clarke [20:41]**

...........

**belLAMEy [20:44]**

you’re going to be very disappointed

* * *

 As soon as she gets her wings, Clarke sends Bellamy a selfie and he responds with about a thousand dopey emojis.   


* * *

** clarke [16:04] **

you still picking me up from the airport?

**belLAMEy [16:06]**

what time do you land?

**clarke [16:07]**

2017 terminal 3 bring ur dog

He shoots back a unamused-face emoji and Clarke bombards him with puppy gifs.

* * *

Clarke rolls her small black luggage behind her, another bag slung over her shoulder as she heads towards baggage claim. Bellamy is waiting in the crowd with a poorly drawn puppy on a sheet of computer paper with the words “Badass Flight Attendant Clarke Griffin.”

“I am disappointed with your lack of canine companionship at present.”

Bellamy points to the stick figure puppy innocently. 

Rolling her eyes, Clarke stops in front of him and looks up. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from her face. “I missed you.”

Clarke rolls up on her toes and kisses him, sighing against his lips. “Missed you, too.”

Taking her roll aboard, Bellamy drapes his arm over her shoulders and leads her to the parking garage. Clarke has her own apartment, but she’s barely spent any time there, even before her four-week training. They pull up to Bellamy’s apartment building and Clarke frowns. 

“I made you dinner,” Bellamy answers her silent question. “I’ll take you by there after you eat something other than McDonald’s or airport food.”

She leans over the console and kisses him swiftly. “I love you.”

“I know.”

* * *

 They stop in front of the door and Bellamy’s hand stills against the handle. Clarke looks at him quizzically. He looks as though he’s contemplating something: furrowing his brows and worrying his lip between his teeth.  


“Bellamy?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. You ready?”

Clarke frowns. “Um, yeah? I’ve been to your apartment a million times. You cook for me like four times a week.”

Bellamy smiles slyly and pushes the door open slowly, slotting himself through the opening carefully. Clarke follows, only to be met with excited yipping and small paws sliding across the laminate floors.

She gasps, dropping her bag. “Oh my god.” Her eyes well up and she bends to the floor timidly, reaching out a hand. The small mutt is wagging it’s tail excitedly and Clarke whimpers. “Omigodomigod.”

Bellamy is laughing at this point and the dog is now squirming happily in her arms as Clarke plops her butt down on the floor and looks up at him. “I know he’s not a  _puppy...”_

“He’s perfect,” she interjects. “Does he have a name?”

Clarke has reverted back to an eight year old and Bellamy is thoroughly amused. “Norm.”

She squints. “That’s a weird name for a dog.”

Bellamy shrugs. “I got him at the shelter, he already had the name. I’m sure you could probably condition him to a new name, he’s only three or four years old.” 

Rubbing behind Norm’s ears, Clarke shakes her head. “Nah, Norm suits him.”

Bellamy squats down beside her and scratches under the pup’s chin and Norm pants in approval. Clarke gives him another squeeze and turns to Bellamy. “I  _love_  you.”

“I know, I know. But just so you know, I’ve been planning on getting a dog for  _months._  This isn’t because you’ve been nagging me for the last three weeks.”

“Mhm, sure.” She kisses him. “I believe you.”

“I love you, too.”

Clarke let’s Norm go and he scrambles off her lap and heads straight for the squeaky toy abandoned in the middle of the floor.

* * *

Clarke lies when Bellamy asks her if she’s feeding Norm under the table.


	47. it's educational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off anonymous prompt: 'BELLARKE WHERE BELLAMY AND CLARKE ARE BOTH TEACHERS AT A SCHOOL, AND THINGS HAPPEN, PLEASE AND THANK YOU :) I LOVE YOUR WRITING BY THE WAY'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just realized these weren't on ao3 anywhere, i wrote them like a year ago.

The bell rang and the kids slammed their books shut and dashed out the door.

“Don’t forget to read chapter four!” Clarke shouted over the noise. She, too, was anxious to get out of the classroom but probably for a much different reason. She straightened the files on her desk and grabbed her phone from the top right drawer. 

Shutting the lights off before leaving the classroom, she weaved through the massive crowd of students making their way to the cafeteria until she reached the history hallway.

Bellamy’s classroom was the last room, tucked into the corner with only one window. The back wall was lined with bookshelves and when Clarke slipped into the room, locking the door behind her she found Bellamy standing in front of them as he put a small stack of books back into their respective slots.

She leaned back against the door and Bellamy slid the final book into place before turning to face her. 

“Well, Ms. Griffin, fancy meeting you here,” he said smugly.

“ _God."_ She rolled her eyes. "Just shut up and kiss me.”

Clarke pulled herself from the door and glided over to Bellamy, grabbing his collar and bringing his mouth down onto her forcefully. Bellamy reached low and wrapped his arms around her waist lifting her up and placing her on his desk. 

Clarke hitched her skirt up her thighs so she could wrap her legs around him and her fingers fumbled with shirt buttons as Bellamy bit and sucked at her neck. She dug her fingers into his chest as he ground his hips upwards, causing her to let out a breathy moan.

“I took a kids cell phone today,” Bellamy said huskily as he palmed her breast.

“I gave a pop quiz, and only three kids failed,” Clarke countered, throwing her head back and arching into Bellamy as he kissed down her chest into the valley of her breasts.

“A kid turned in his term paper on  _Octavia._ Ass-kisser.” Bellamy slid his hand under Clarke’s skirt and squeezed her ass, pulling her closer to him.

Clarke laughed and played with his belt. She was finally working on the zipper when Bellamy breathed hotly into her ear, “Go out with me.”

Clarke’s fingers remained frozen against his apparent arousal. Sighing, she leaned back so she could look at him, his hair tousled and pupils blown wide. 

“ _Bellamy._ ” She frowned.

Bellamy huffed, pulling away from her and working to button up his shirt again. 

Clarke groaned as he removed himself from between her legs, sitting there with her hair in a disarray, three buttons undone and her skirt hiked up around her hips. 

“Bellamy, we talked about this… we can’t  _date_ ,” she reasoned. “We work together, there is no way that ends well.”

Bellamy scoffed. “Oh, but fucking around in empty classrooms and storage closets does?”

Clarke’s mouth snapped shut.

Bellamy winced. “I’m sorry.”

"No, you’re right,” she whispered.

Bellamy turned to look at her, her head hung in frustration. “Then what is it, Clarke?”

“It’s just too  _real_ , okay? Going on a date makes this...” She gestured wildly. “--real, and I don’t know if I can handle that. Because then what if you, I don’t know, fall in love with me or something and we break up and it’s messy and then I lose you and I just don’t know if I can  _do_ that, okay?”

Bellamy rushed back to her, cupping her face and tipping it upward, forcing her to look at him in the eye. “Well, it’s too late for that, Princess.”

Clarke blinked. “W-what?” 

"This is already  _real_ for me, Clarke,” Bellamy said softly. “And I know you feel  _something_.”

Clarke leaned into his hand.

"C’mon, Clarke, let go of whatever’s holding you back.”

She closed her eyes, and they sat in the dark, quiet room for a moment. “Okay,” she whispered.

The corners of Bellamy’s mouth tugged upward. “Okay?”

“Yeah,  _okay._ ” She shook her head with a smile. “Can we still keep having sex in empty classrooms and storage closets, though?”

"Oh, hell yes.” Bellamy laughed and kissed her fiercely, pulling her flush against his body once more.


	48. it's educational, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> teachers!verse, based off prompt: 'OUR STUDENTS THINK WE’RE DATING AU-BELLARKE'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, i wrote these like a year ago and i just realized they weren't on ao3.

“Got any fun plans for the _weekend_  Ms. Griffin?” 

Clarke studied the student who was perked up in the back row of class.

"Sterling, what I do on my personal time is precisely that, _personal._ " 

The kid rolled his eyes and slumped back against his seat, eyes flicking towards the clock above the door. It was the last period of the day and Clarke couldn’t wait to get off campus and have a relaxing three-day weekend. 

A girl from the other side of the room piped in, “I think Mr. Blake mentioned something about going to the Smithsonian.”

Clarke halted with the whiteboard marker still pressed against the surface where she was writing their weekend assignment. It squeaked as she scribbled out the last of the sentence and turned and narrowed her eyes at the class. “What Mr. Blake does with _his_  weekend is neither my concern or your business.” She cleared her throat with a tilt of her head. “Now, this weekend I want you to make sure you’ve read the next chapter, and filled out that diagram on page 34 of your workbooks. Other than that, enjoy your three-day weekend, and don’t forget we have an exam next Friday.” 

The bell rang just as she finished giving her instructions and the class jetted out the doors, papers flying comically as the room emptied. 

She dropped down into her chair and propped her elbows up on the textbook splayed on her desk, her chin coming to rest in her open palms. Classes this week had been especially trying, the freshmen were starting their unit on dissection and the seniors wanted nothing to do with their human anatomy analysis papers. 

"Rough day?” A husky voice interrupted her trance and she shifted her head in her hands to see Bellamy leaning against the door frame, tie already loose and hair already disheveled. 

“I’m pretty sure my students think we’re dating,” she contemplated.

A smug grin spread across his face. “Well they wouldn’t be wrong.” He pulled himself off the doorway and wandered into the classroom, circling around her chair and pressing his hands down to gently massage her shoulders.

Clarke’s head tipped back and she closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping her lips as Bellamy bent down to whisper in her ear, breath hot against her skin. “Ready to get out of here?”

She hummed as Bellamy’s hands traveled away from her shoulders, hands snaking down against the bare skin above the neckline of her blouse, his calloused fingers ghosting over the tops of her breasts. He nibbled at her earlobe before pulling away. Clarke whimpered at the loss of contact and spun around, hooking her fingers into his belt loops as she gazed up at him. 

“More than anything,” she breathed and tugged slightly, causing Bellamy to hunch over, hands bracing themselves on the arms of the chair. Their mouths began to gravitate closer when there was a soft cough and Bellamy bolted upright and Clarke spun to see a young boy standing in the entrance to the classroom. 

“Um, Ms. Griffin… I-I was just wondering if you could sign off on my homework report for ISS,” he stuttered. He held out a small slip of paper and Clarke felt her chest flush. 

“Oh, yes, ehm,” she said, flustered. She beckoned to the freshman to join them at the desk, Bellamy hovering awkwardly above them.

“Mr. Blake.” The boy nodded politely, and Bellamy stifled a laugh and tipped his head in acknowledgement.

Clarke was scribbling her signature. “Yes, Mr. Blake and I were just, uh, discussing… the detention schedule. Yeah, he really wanted to cover for me next week so that I could help with the book drive.”

Bellamy shot her a look and Clarke mouthed a sarcastic _I’m sorry._  She handed the boy his homework slip with an anxious smile and the boy scurried out the room.

“Detention schedule? Really Clarke?”

Clarke groaned and rose to her feet. “I’ll make it up to you.” She ran her hand down his chest, rising up on her toes to brush her lips against his.  ”I _promise._ ”

“I guess there’s not going to be _speculation_  about us much longer, those freshman boys gossip more than the girls do.” He laughed, pulling away.

"Yeah, yeah.” Clarke rolled her eyes, gathering her things from her filing cabinet. “Don’t be surprised if some of your students show up at the Smithsonian tomorrow, hoping to see us holding hands.” She patted him on the arm and sauntered towards the door.

“At least it’s an _educational_  field trip!” he called back, jogging to catch up with her. Laughing, he draped his arm over his shoulder and they made their way through the deserted hallways, stopping briefly for a quick romp in the second floor storage room before heading home.


	49. it's educational, pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> teachers!verse, based off prompt: 'WE LEAVE EACH OTHER NOTES ON THE BLACKBOARDS AU + BELLARKE FOR THE TEACHER AU PRETTY PLEASE~~~!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, wrote this a year ago and realized it wasn't on ao3

Bellamy flipped on the lights in his classroom with his pinkie, struggling with his coffee and the stack of books in his other hand. He weaves through the labyrinth of desks until he reaches his corner on the opposite side of the class, dropping the stack of books on his chair with a thud. 

Clarke had an early meeting with the science department, so they’d taken separate cars and Bellamy was slightly cranky because she hadn’t had time to fix him her special brew this morning. Instead, he had opted for the coffee cart just outside her apartment building and it was _maybe_  the worst roast he’d ever had.

He swallowed the last of the drink with a slight grimace, glancing around the room until his eyes came to rest on the edge of his whiteboard. Unmistakably Clarke’s clinical chicken-scratch handwriting in purple marker there was a small note. 

_…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad._

Using the Iliad to seduce him, this was a new technique. 

* * *

Bellamy had his department meeting during his lunch hour, which meant Clarke would have to eat alone,  _and_  she wouldn’t get to see him until the end of the day. She wrapped up the remains of her turkey sandwich and made her way back to her classroom. 

Clarke was lucky enough to have her planning period follow lunch, giving her nearly two hours of solitude for rejuvenation. _And honestly_ , most of the time that lunch period was spent scraping her nails down Bellamy’s chest in a dark classroom and she _needed_  that second hour to collect herself before having to face her students again.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty lab room and she stopped abruptly when she noticed her board. In big sloppy red letters it read:

_Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves._

Albert Einstein. _What a nerd,_ she shook her head with a quiet laugh. Although, she thought to herself, she _did_  leave an Iliad quote on his board this morning. Who was the nerd, _really?_

She spent her planning period grading pop quizzes and thinking about the time Bellamy had pulled the car over to the side of the road and grabbed her face hotly a few weeks prior on their way to visit his sister, covering her mouth with his generously. Clarke’s whole body had vibrated with laughter as he pulled back and put the car back in gear and casually continued down the road, leaving her body warm and energized.

This was beginning to feel _real_  to her, too.

_Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts._


	50. it's educational, pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> teachers!verse, based off prompt: 'I CAN'T GET THIS PROMPT OUT OF MY HEAD! BELLARKE MAKE-UP SEX PLEASE I NEED THIS!!'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one, wrote it a year ago, realized it wasn't on ao3

Bellamy snapped his book shut out of frustration, Clarke’s pen scribbling angrily across the stack of papers she had mounted in her lap as they lay in bed.

“There’s no way that student did poorly enough to warrant that amount of red pen,” Bellamy drawled.

Clarke paused and her nose flared, but her eyes didn’t leave the quizzes. Bellamy was propped up against the headboard, body twisting ever so slightly to look at Clarke, her hair tied up messily with two pens sticking out of the bun. 

With a huffy sigh, she hastily jotted out a number at the top of the quiz and flipped to the next one without acknowledging him.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes as Bellamy painfully listened to the sound of pen against paper, frustration growing inside him.

“Clarke, are we going to talk about this?” he asked gruffly.

_Silence._

“Clarke,” he said, softer this time, placing his hand over hers as it slowed. “Talk to me, _please._ ”

She withdrew her hand slightly, slapping the pen down on the surface she was using to write on and turned her head sharply to look at Bellamy.

"You were out of line,” she breathed hotly.

Bellamy nodded. “I know, but—”

“No!” she snapped, “No _but_ , Bellamy. No anything. It was not your place.”

"But, _Stanford_ , Clarke,” he pleaded

Clarke looked at him warily.

"Do you really want to teach high school biology forever? This fellowship would allow you to do _real_  research, get _published,_ maybe even one day: a professorship.” 

Clarke dragged her eyes away, brimming with an unfamiliar wetness. She wrung her hands in her lap anxiously. 

Bellamy had shifted on the bed, his hand now resting on her thigh as he looked at her earnestly. “What are you so afraid of?”

"But what about _us?_ ” she nearly whispered, eyes meeting his again hesitantly.

“It’s not about me, Clarke, this is about _you!_ ”

Clarke frowned.

Bellamy’s thumb was tracing idle circles on the skin below her sleep shorts. “I’m sorry if I overstepped my boundaries. I just— you are so much more than small town high school biology, Clarke. I wanted you to see that, to see yourself like I do.”

There was something about the way he was looking at her and Clarke felt it like a weight in her chest, something inside of her just waiting to burst. She shoved her papers to the nightstand and scrambled over to Bellamy’s side of the bed.

She settled her knees down on either side of him, straddling him as she grabbed his face and crashed their lips together. Bellamy’s hands sliding into place at her hips, pushing up the fabric of her shirt to press into the hot skin above her waistband. 

Clarke dragged her hands down his chest, fumbling to find the hem of his shirt, thrusting it up as soon as she found purchase. Breaking the kiss, Bellamy helped Clarke remove his shirt as well as her own, basking in the sight of her bare breasts bouncing gently as she rocked her hips against his core. 

He reached up and plucked the pens from her hair, finding the elastic and pulling her hair loose. Her carded his finger through her curls and pulled her back into a kiss, her breasts brushing against his chest and he felt the hardened peaks of her nipples pressing against his skin. He bit down on her bottom lip, tugging as he trailed his hands down her body, cupping her breasts and curling around her rib cage to force her closer. 

Hungrily, he grappled at her shorts, shoving them down as she lifted her hips, trying to help him rid her of the remaining barriers. She squirmed, kicking them off once they reached her ankles and Bellamy was flipping them over, bucking roughly against her wetness, eliciting a delicious groan from Clarke.

 _"God, Clarke,”_ he rasped between sucking at her throat and leaving a trail of purplish marks down her collarbone. His fingers sliding through her folds as she fondled her own breasts, looking down at him, eyes half-lidded. 

His thumb brushed against her clit and her whole body arched up, and Bellamy smiled smugly before pressed an open mouthed kiss to her naval. He dipped lower and wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and Clarke writhed beneath him, tangling her fingers in his hair roughly. 

Her feet were scraping down his thighs, trying to push down his boxers distractedly as Bellamy thrust a finger into her and began pumping. Her breathing was ragged.  _“God, yes, there,”_ she moaned when his finger crooked up and brushed against an especially responsive spot inside her. 

Clarke whimpered and Bellamy pulled back, chin wet and pupils dilated. He shifted and shucked the boxers from where they sat, now, on his thighs and returned to Clarke, brushing his velvety tip against her folds teasingly. 

Reaching down she took his cock in her hands and guided him to her entrance, arching her hips so that he pressed into her shallowly. Clarke hooked her legs up behind him and tightened the hold, pulling him in close, Bellamy pushing slowly into her as her head fell back against the bed. 

He filled her fully and rolled his hips slowly to allow her time to adjust. She began to circle her hips and Bellamy pulled himself out before slamming back into her, breasts bouncing with the rhythm of his gyrating. They settled a slow pace at first, with heavy breathing and soft moaning. Bellamy met her mouth with his forcefully as his their tongues clashed together, tasting of toothpaste and Bellamy’s decaf coffee. 

Clarke felt her release building and growing, her toes curling as Bellamy’s thrusting became sloppy and he rested his forehead, damp with sweat, against her shoulder. She had one hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, the other snaked down between them.

She cried out, brushing her thumb roughly against her clit as her climax washed over her and Bellamy groaned into her skin, biting at her collarbone. She clenched around him and his release followed seconds after hers and they collapsed together. Bellamy lips still pressed onto her skin as Clarke’s breathing slowed, coming off her high.

Bellamy pulled out of her and a small noise hitched in her throat, whining at his absence. He rolled onto his back beside her and they lay there, bodies trembling with pleasure. 

“How many red marks on my paper right now?” he smiled.

Clarke reached up and slapped at his chest with the back of her hand. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me.”

“I do,” she said, words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. She felt him stiffen beside her.

“Really?” he whispered, and Clarke rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him.

Her eyes were soft and Bellamy searched them earnestly. “I love you,” she sighed. “I am _in love_ with you, Bellamy Blake. This is real for me.”

He smiled fully, his features suddenly younger and he was looking at her in a way that made her chest ache. “Are you sure? I know I said from the beginning that this was _real_  for me, but it’s only been a few—”

She cut him off, pressing her lips to his. They were soft and pliant and the kiss was slow; lazy, but earnest. Clarke pulled back gently, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure,” she murmured against his cheek.

Bellamy pulled her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. _“I love you,”_  he whispered into her hair. 

Bellamy woke up the next morning, feeling the cold empty spot beside him in the bed. He wandered into the kitchen after pulling on his sweatpants to see Clarke stationed at the island with her laptop and a mug of coffee.

She looked up and smiled at him. “I called the Fellowship Committee to set up my interview.”

Bellamy tried to hide his elation as he came up behind her and wrapped his hands around her shoulders to pull her against his chest. Dropping a kiss into her hair, he assured her. “ _We’re_  going to figure this out, whatever happens— we’re in it together.”

Clarke tipped her head down and kissed his hand.  _“Together.”_


End file.
